Fates Traced in Blood
by midnightisolde
Summary: LaCroix/OC. Canon/lore compliant. AU elements. Pre-Bloodlines. Amelia Siddall has a disturbing experience while at an event and meets an enigmatic figure, both of which haunt her dreams for the following weeks. A new graduate in librarianship, she secures a new position for a private client, Sebastian LaCroix in New York. Will she discover the truth of his vampiric nature?
1. Chapter 1

Author Note: This fan fiction is meant to be as close to the Vampire the Masquerade and VTMB game source material as possible. However, there may be some AU elements and flexibility.

There are quite a few Sebastian LaCroix fan fictions now, here and on AO3, several of which take the approach of having a ghoul oc. But, this is my take on it. I hope you enjoy it.

Main sourcebooks used:

Vampire the Masquerade: Revised (1998) and Vampire the Masquerade 20th Anniversary (2011) Clanbook: Ventrue Revised (2000) Ghouls - Ghouls: Fatal Addiction (1997) and Liber des Goules: The Book of Ghouls (1997) Hunters - Hunter: The Reckoning (1999); The Hunters Hunted (1992) And The Hunters Hunted II (2013)

* * *

Through the long windows of his penthouse office, Sebastian LaCroix looked out on this late evening. The skies were black but obscured with wisps of grey cloud sailing before the stars and bright moon. And sentinel skyscrapers, foreboding in the dark with a blood orange glow of windows dotted upon their dark edifices. Below, perhaps the figures of people - insignificant; how small they seemed from here.

There was always life in a city. Always some tragedy and a reason for order to be maintained.

He liked to be alone with his thoughts. And, there would be much to think about now. The stillness of the night and the sense of remove from the life below was always a good setting for thinking. And it was becoming a habit of his. A familiar sight at his penthouse in the highest tower of Los Angeles. But this was not there.

New York, like most cities of the New World, had always been volatile, in spite of Camarilla and Ventrue presence in the most prominent areas. The Sabbat had been subdued for now and Camarilla power was reinstated. He had played an important role of course. Always the overachiever. And yes, he had achieved much over his long life, and he was not shy in letting those that met him know, out of his pride, ambition and a sense of superiority. And yet, there was a need to prove something. He had a fear of failure. Here this fragile balance was not without dramatic turbulence and losses. The Prince of New York had been destroyed by her diplomatic misjudgment. Power was always uncertain, no matter how assured it seemed.

So this was why he had reason to contemplate power now. It was always a Ventrue concern. It was part of their education; their disposition naturally leaned towards such thought, and many long lecturing discussions of the topic. So, there was nothing unusual in the philosophy of these contemplations. And it was not that he was not unpracticed in the welding of power, having had a position of leadership whilst a soldier; in his business ventures and gradually over time in Kindred concerns since his Embrace. And, as a culmination of that, he would imminently be the Prince of Los Angeles.

He had developed a presence there over the years for business purposes since he was the CEO of a large organisation and so there was a necessity to this. But it was relatively recently that he had thought seriously of being there in person, given that the territory was volatile. He had been in New York a long time. Though he was used to it and would in certain respects prefer to remain here rather than Los Angeles with its arid heat, synthetic allure and powder keg atmosphere and patchwork of factions, so it was to be. He might look forward to the adventure and a challenge. He had always done what was necessary to fulfil his desires and ambitions and was therefore accustomed to moving, whether to learn from Kindred mentors or to carve out new frontiers of influence and wealth. But he had his doubts about whether this was a prize or a sentence.

It would never be a simple rule. There were more prestigious and older Princedoms. Los Angeles was not one. Wild and temperamental. An Anarch haven; lawless and reckless. A drought of leadership. He was determined to do an admirable job there. Surely it would be a boon to him and would, so it seemed, secure his favour when he brought it to heel for the Camarilla. But it would not be easy. He knew that authority never came without the burden of responsibility and hardship, however unappreciated it went. He had been there and he knew the types he would encounter. It was doubtful for him to ever have the respect of those determinedly hostile persons, but such a worthless thing mattered little to him. Such an admirable feat for him to bring that city under control. Who could not praise him then? He did not doubt his own abilities. But what he did doubt was to trust those that backed him. He had enough experience and just enough taste of proximity to the power of the Camarilla to have illusions remaining about it. He knew there to be little real regard for him, but rather just what he could do for them. It mattered little if he survived this, just so long as he paved the way enough for their purposes. He had learned that few, very few, could ever be trusted.

But Sebastian LaCroix, for all his faults, was not one to shrink from what seemed insurmountable. He was admirable in that way. Even a bit reckless and crazy in his daring, though on the surface he might have seemed austere. He loved a challenge. And he embraced the challenge of change and difficult odds. Had he not been born to a time of great change when young, before his Embrace?

The Embrace and first taste of undeath were never pleasant. It had shocked him then.

He looked at the dark night now; his reflection thinly visible upon the glass. He could rationalise those feelings of distress now. Look upon it with the clinical remove of time. He still thought as a human then and so it was horrifying to realise what he had become. But he had come to some manner of stability in living this way. And, to settle into ambition for the great possibilities offered to him which was the objective he sought now. Naturally, he was still cautious of the darkness that dwelt in the heart of every Kindred.

He knew what he was. He had grown to have a level of detachment after these many, many decades, and wasn't discomforted by the fact that the blood of humankind to which he had once belonged, was now his sustenance. But certainly, he did not wish to be a wandering wraith of degenerated spirit, within whom only bloodlust and feral malice remained.

He might have shivered at that thought. He loathed squalor and vulgarity. Whether in the form of Anarch escapades or the disgusting excesses of the Sabbat, such was anathema to him, whatever his own indifference.

The night seemed still with sultry darkness. And, it was not yet very late. He had tasks to attend to.

He was not one to keep menageries of Ghouls as others were, particularly the old and powerful of his clan. He was not 'understaffed'. But he preferred not to have more than necessary. And, not more than a handful who were aware of their circumstances. Others were simply enamoured by what he could offer. For those of mercenary feeling, he was wealthy and therefore the benefits of working for him were obvious, if impersonal. Some of a fanciful inclination were charmed by his person, in spite of his flaws. All vampires could bind a mortal to their influence by their blood. The good fortune of being a Ventrue was that one had several abilities at hand to inspire loyalty, influence, and control. A presence that could beguile, and a hypnotic gaze that commanded and influenced the mind. And if those preternatural gifts did not do the trick, there was still the earthly benefit of their possession of wealth, connections and influence.

The Sabbat presence in the city may have been minimised, but there still remained insurrections and this victory was not without casualties. He had lost some personal staff and vessels as a consequence. An inconvenience, but a potentially hazardous one. How difficult it was to cultivate and maintain these retainers. It was hard to get the staff these days.

And so, this was the objective of this night, rather than introspection on the state and nature of things. On his desk reports were laid out. This was neither unusual nor the first occasion that he had perused them, as he sometimes requested information regarding new hires and interns. It paid to be abreast of potential and move before anyone else did. A new vessel of his preference. A servant. Perhaps, a Childe.

The latter wasn't his purpose, for now. As he had experienced a contraction in both ghouls and vessels, he was alight to potential fresh ones to replenish his needs. There were certain tasks and projects that required assistance and expertise, especially as there was much to do in his move to Los Angeles he would need these resources.

He had retrieved the information for this particular person whom he had encountered the previous night. This one might not have been obvious at first glance since she was not unusual to other young persons, still studying or recently graduated, that had interned here. And even in that milieu, though not unimpressive, (or else she would not have had an internship there), was not the highest echelon of outstanding. It was because he had met this one which made the difference. The circumstances had been normal, at least initially. But, certain sensitive occurrences had taken place which was not good in Kine presence. There were several factors to his choice. The potential. The ability and accomplishments, but without overt conspicuousness. The personal suitability for his needs… And then there was a necessity. What had she seen? He had been remembering it; going over it in his mind in thought.

He had been at an evening event. He sometimes appeared at such things, though he was naturally more of a solitary type. But, certainly, it was of benefit to the foundation for such to be expected. And, he felt at home in the surroundings. Gallery museum; the grand architecture of a classical type. The music subtle; suitable. Not too overbearing, or too much of a modern blare for his old fashioned taste.

He was finely dressed, as usual. Dark evening suit of a luxuriant fabric and cut that spoke of quality. And LaCroix himself, aloof yet with a certain subtle magnetism in his presence. Pale complexion; a temperature above cadaverous waxen, but there was a handsomeness in the angular nobility of his countenance. He had been there for some time now, the formalities over, and could settle back into observing the scene. He was on one of the mezzanine balconies, associates too; some other Ventrue also there. His grey eyes glanced over the people with a haughty languor. Any of interest? Did any draw his gaze more than others amongst them?

Vampires had heightened senses. Attuned to the vitality of the living. A slight movement. The soft sound of breathing. Heartbeat. The flow of the blood through the veins. The scents, each with potential. Vampires of all clans might have personal biases and appreciation of quality, but they could make do with anyone if necessary. But Ventrue tastes were particular. And he was particularly select. Most of the living bore no interest to him. His sensitivity to their blood was dull; nullified. It was only a few that piqued his interest. It was the case with him that none but the type he needed would satisfy.

He had yet to drink while at this function. Perhaps he wouldn't at all should no one suitable cross his path. To be a Ventrue, one had to be prepared for that. There was no aching hunger in him, save for the ebb of longing that dwelt in the depths of every Kindred heart. Never did it leave them from Embrace until Final Death. Still, it was not overwhelming for him at that moment. A quiet, white-noise background thought, which he had learned to manage.

He thought in consideration. Usually, the presence of a suitable person would be unmistakable. At other times, it might take longer to determine; need to let the senses settle, and this was one of those nights.

A pull here.

An interest there.

A few question marks over some, then to be eliminated. Meanwhile, the presence of others seemed to stand out.

He had seen a young woman. Dark-haired and fair. Demure of manner. It seemed to him that she either worked there or studied because she appeared slightly apart from the occasion. His gaze lingered longer in scrutiny, as he did with other individuals that had piqued his attention.

But he must be certain. There was consideration of others. And, in no urgency, he was casual in his pursuit of a suitable prospect.

Conversation sometimes. Dealing with interaction from other Kindred, some of whom he knew not to push much store in; others could be considered allies for now.

But, it was getting late, and his itinerary might now turn towards the most basic defining need of a vampire.

That brunette girl again.

Something of her blood. Not as an awakening certainty of restless need in him. Rather, it was the subtlety of a desire that ebbed and flowed and drew him a little more than the rest. The attraction was not the undeniable kind he knew, as it was for a Ventrue when in the presence of their type. Some identified themselves only by a slow burn of appeal. Perhaps, of a marginally different tenor to his typical quarry. A risk? Or close enough to what he needed, that the slight difference may be acceptable or even exotic.

Hardly a noticeable gesture; his grey clear eyes narrowed but betrayed little of emotion.

He scrutinised her more. What could he deduce from the exterior?

Hair of a dark brown and quite long. Fair skin of a warm rosy glow, that English look. Neither particularly tall nor short. She seemed shy, but a poised deportment. Pretty girl, though in striking beauty others surely drew more attention. She was dressed demure and fairly-well, perhaps lacking a little polish though she had a certain poise. Perhaps, she had not the resources or the inclination to be high maintenance. This was a major city; a fashion centre. The occasion fairly exclusive. She might have been too much a wallflower there to have been head turning.

He assumed her to be in her early twenties, though the youthful vitality in her face, and unsureness of manner, might make one think younger.

What did she do?

Of her age group here, some were interns. Others, students of a variety of disciplines, or young professionals. Which might she be?

With a casual enquiry, he had a general idea about her. She was most likely a student or intern, perhaps both, probably doing study abroad. Something about her and her blood made him sense that she was not from here.

He did not want to let on too much of his interest, That could be a dangerous thing for the Ventrue, as it allowed others to speculate as to their preferences in blood, or to preempt their plans. Of course, he could speak to the woman directly, but that might have been a waste of his time. And besides, at that point, it didn't matter about her as a person and what was going on in her life. He was interested in her blood and whether it suited him.

He looked back at the girl then, gazed a little longer. She also happened to catch his eyes then, though she soon broke this brief meeting; looking away shyly. And it was not too long afterwards that she disappeared from the room, possibly to another quite area or outside on the terrace gardens, which might suit him well if he could intercept her.

He, therefore, had kept a note of her from that time onwards, though he was not too overbearing in pursuing her and he would have done so slowly until he could feed on her.

And might have been all there was to it, had not something occurred to disrupt the normal proceedings of that night.

It was past midnight and there was a quiet, almost unnatural stillness, in spite of the dull murmur from the main room, which gave one the feeling that something was about to happen.

Apparently, as intelligence would reveal later, some minor Sabbat shovel heads had decided to act in deliberate defiance by coming into Camarilla territory, probably as they knew individuals of that faction would be present here. Though it was not a major attack, they had caused some outrages. Held some hostages. There were a couple of acute injuries and one near fatality that had to be explained as there was some media interest but soon waned as attention turned to the next drama, as it always did.

How did his girl do? When he was checking the area, he could sense that same scent that had caught his attention earlier. Just faint, but a distinct enough. He supposed he was following it, even though that wasn't the sole object of his direction.

The regular throb of a heart. But it was urgent, pounding, he recognised something near frantic and it intrigued him. And closer; stronger, suddenly.

Around the corner came the girl. Her quickened but cautious pace; head down, she almost walked right into him.

Her face snapped up then, but it seemed that she wanted only brief acknowledgment, as if she would sooner continue past than stay. On her face, drained white, there was the look of disturbance.

By that time he had become aware of the shovel-heads antics, and so he had his suspicions of why she looked and acted strangely. If he was correct, then there was a reason to worry a little.

He feigned concern. Asked if she was alright. But his concern was not purely an act. He didn't like the pernicious deeds of the Sabbat dregs, although this was not really out of humanitarian concerns for the Kine. Was it not convenient for him that she had sailed straight into his arms, given his intentions? Still, he wasn't completely unfeeling, he just didn't know her well enough to feel anything personal.

"No, I'm fine it's just -'' she did not meet his gaze, this shy girl, except for a moment when she glanced at him. Something in her froze just then. She might have simply been enamoured by his handsome features, but he had a feeling that it was not the reason. A slight gasp and drawing back from him. There was the hint of shock and alarm in her eyes, which she hid from him, but he had seen it. He believed that she had seen something of the supernatural only recently - his purpose in investigating this way and intercepting her. But now he glimpsed the hint in her green eyes of recognition of his inhuman nature too. The first was understandable - the Sabbat were not shy of showing themselves, although they were never truly reckless enough to have no Masquerade of their own. But the second - of suspicion of him - was more significant.

He had a feeling for the reason for that. He gently encircled her arm with his hand. She seemed to fold to the reassurance, yet he could tell from her heartbeat that all was not well in her reactions towards him. Hmm, he might have to put plans of settling upon this one to feed aside for now. He could not let her leave him now, not until learning more about her.

The young woman had evidently stumbled upon some type of scene of them feeding. But it seemed that she had the sense to hide immediately, or else she too may have become an addition to the feast. He was relieved by that, even if it was in a self-serving way. It would be a shame and a waste if her blood had been wasted upon their gluttony.

"You seem to be a little unnerved. Understandable, given the circumstances.''

His voice was velveteen comfort in the gloomy area, under the dark sky and looming buildings that dominated. She looked at him, still white-terror on her face. Fine black suit and so knew that he was rich. His movement had a certain gracile sensuality but was not quite human if only in a subtle way. Fair-haired, his eyes were grey but a striking glow in them was… different. She felt drawn to him. But a sense of unease resided in the deepest part of her, yet she could not quite place it.

"Yes. I,'' she furrowed her brow, ''thank you.''

His lips upturned in a smile, then he glanced away, "no trouble. It is just a courtesy.'' His attention then back to her. ''You were going home?''

''Yeah. I was just going to get a taxi. Before this happened. That was where I was going. I should be going now anyway.'' She pulled her coat around herself more. He could tell she felt uneasy, though she was trying to retain a facade of ease. He was concerned that she realised what he was and wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Perhaps she was justified in feeling that way. Had he not been observing her; selecting her to be his prey tonight?

He thought for a moment. He couldn't let her wander away so easily. "No need.

You can come with me.''

"It's alright. I will be ok.''

He looked at her. ''It's not an inconvenience. Come with me,'' he guided her along with him to a black limousine.

He let her settle into the surroundings, knowing that she was probably a bit nervous, so it was better to set her mind at ease. The leather seats were a plush luxury and comfort. She looked out of the window as the car hummed by the buildings in the night time. She seemed to feel more relaxed.

"I realise we have not been properly acquainted with each other,'' his voice softly cut through the quietness. ''What is your name?''

"Amelia Siddall.'' She was looking at him unsurely, but in wide-eyed curiosity at him. He found that not an unusual reaction from people sometimes. He told her who he was and she was even more awed by that.

''We won't be too long I imagine,'' he glanced out of the windows.

"Thanks. I think you were right that I would feel better not travelling back myself.''

''Of course,'' he agreed; smiled with a fiend purpose. ''What happened to make you look so uneasy?'' he asked her with casual ease.

''I-I don't know. It was just weird. I can't tell if it was just my imagination. He was holding her and it looked like -''

''Go on.''

She shrugged, ''I don't know. It just looked… strange.''

He sighed. He hoped to get the information out of her without using disciplines, but he had to be certain in spite of his belief that the girl had not seen enough to be certain of anything, nor understood anything of it. "Tell me,'' he leaned closer to her, a focused look in his eyes.

''I thought it was just a… an intimate encounter I had come across. I was embarrassed,'' she looked at him unsurely, the naivety and youth of the girl shown on her face and shy doe-ish eyes - eyes that caught in the light grey eyes that held them in their gaze. Still as stilled by a Basilisks glare. The irresistible need to be honest with him. She had surprising strength of resistance - her mind was strong. But, even so, not enough to resist him. ''There was something-something just - just not right,'' her words tumbled out as if falling into a dream; attention only for him; all else melted away like the unfocused background of a photograph.

He asked her more about it and she told him. It seemed that she had seen only a little of it, yet enough to have made her feel uneasy. And then there was also the look of recognition of his nature from her, as if she possessed an instinctive ability, to consider. He asked her about that too. She said only that there was something of him that enthralled and at the same time chilled her blood to ice, like desire with loathing strangely mixed.

She did not name that fear and allure, by its name of 'Vampire'. But he knew that she described it well enough. He had his suspicions of this. Though they were just as easy to deceive as to kill, some of the Kine were more observant than others. Some had powers of perception to strangeness and the supernatural. And those were the ones to be regarded with concern and, perhaps, fear. He wondered if… but he thought not. However, from experience he knew appearances could be deceiving, so he was not going to dismiss entirely that possibility. It was not out of naivety or trust that a vampire managed to survive almost two centuries, as he had.

By virtue of his Ventrue abilities, he had teased the information out of her. It seemed she did not witness enough to have outright knowledge, and therefore it was not quite a Masquerade breach. He also could not make her confess to any concerning activities, like belonging to a group of hunters. So she was innocent. But it was enough. If she was perceptive, it wouldn't matter that he had made her memory of that night hazy.

She would notice something again.

Or recall that night in some disjointed way. And she probably already did.

He was intrigued by her, and wouldn't easily let her go without another thought. It was a matter of fact that she was useful to him, at least with her blood. Her possible perceptiveness to the supernatural might be a problem, hindrance or a danger later if left to her own devices. Was it not better to diffuse that, by bringing her under his control sooner, rather than later?

He glanced over the information he had on her again. How she had worked on her internship; what her experiences and skills were; what her degrees were in, et cetera.

She was only twenty-three and, as he had surmised, not American but English. She was a graduate student. She was in New York because she had an advanced study portion of her degree, which included study abroad and an internship. The latter she had done at the LaCroix Foundation, in the information and design departments, which was why he was able to pull up details about her in the first place. As to the former, she was studying an advanced certification at an information school of applied arts and design university. This was an additional part of her masters' programme, as her home institute was a library and information school, at the computer science department University of -, UK. She was more or less finished now, so she imminently would have a professional certification. Perhaps she had a purposefulness in self-improvement and accomplishment. He liked that.

He glanced over the information he had on her again. She was only twenty-three and, as he had surmised, not American but English. She was a graduate student in information management. She was basically a archivist or librarian, just with more technological focus. She was in New York for an exchange programme. Conveniently for him, she'd also had an internship as part of her programme at the LaCroix Foundation, and so he was able to pull up details about her. But she would soon finish her studies, and would therefore leave soon. Or, at least, was suppose to do so.

Perhaps she had a purposefulness in self-improvement and accomplishment. He liked that. And, she at least had a professional vocation which might be useful.

He took a sip of the burgundy liquid content of his glass.

He was sure that soon she would want a job. She didn't have a great deal of professional experience. The internship was part of her masters' programme, but the performance reviews of her work were favourable. And obviously, they didn't take low quality as interns, so that in itself was good. The rest were typical entry-level, temporary and casual work here and there.

He was sure that soon she would want a job. She didn't have a great deal of professional experience. The internship was part of her masters' programme, but the performance reviews of her work were favourable. And obviously, they didn't take low quality as interns, so that in itself was good. The rest of her experience was typical entry-level, temporary and casual work here and there.

But, he did not need her to be exceptional or established. He simply needed her to have some good qualities to offer him. She did had some skills that might be quite useful, and which were relevant to the particular tasks that required attention at present. It could have been easy to let her go now. She'd not see him again. What risk was there when she would be far away soon, and he had made her forget? But he had thought through all this now. He had made his decision.


	2. Chapter 2

Author Note:

Thank you for reading so far. If you liked the previous chapter and this one, you are welcome to leave a review to say what you liked. Enjoy the next chapter :D

...

Her eyes opened suddenly in the gloom. The slight sheen of sweat and fast beating heart of a nightmare.

A strange dream. A strange memory.

Amelia woke up in the early morning hours. The alarm clock on the bedside table read 5:00 am. Her bedroom was bathed in dark shapes that seemed made only of solid shadow. It was still night outside, with only a hint of light coming through the curtains. Perhaps, it was just the artificial glow of the street-lamps that lit the city. Or, was it the first ray of sunrise beginning to penetrate the obscuring night?

This dream had been a restless companion for the past week. It had begun to wane, but this latest episode marked its return.

It was like a real memory from the subconscious, which replayed in the form of dreams. It was this sense of familiarity that bred greater unease. Whereas, nightmares were just strange imaginations, and their terrors died with their end.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, her mind fixed on these thoughts. Her dreams replayed through _that_ night again. A real experience, not merely imagination. But it was a fractured memory with disjointed scenes, as if the cuts and order of events were made not her own will. And so, it was hard to reason where reality ended and wild imagination began. But even so, something felt not right, and she knew it to be unnatural.

When she consciously put her mind to thinking about that night, she did remember some parts. The dream memory always started the same way, just as it had in real life. There had been nothing out of the ordinary… Initially at least.

It was an arts event at the New York public library, held in it's grand and ornate spaces. Marbled halls. Sweeping stairs.

While she studied for a semester in the city, she had undertaken some voluntary work at some libraries and museums including this one. They suited her hobbies, but were also useful additions to her résumé as they complemented her subject and vocation. She had been invited. And it was an opportunity for networking, as well as socialising. She did not go out often.

She still felt overwhelmed by the city. She was not naturally a city-type, nor much of a travelling 'go-getter'. She had never really been quite so far away from home on her own before. Granted, she had been to university in her own country, but it was never more than an hours train journey.

Drawing herself up on the bed, she looked at her window as daylight returned more and more. The curtains were drawn, allowing only a dull half-smothered light, and yet it was reassuring. It was a comfort to the unsettled thoughts of her dreams. And yet still they lingered, and the lack of clarity confused her.

The unsettling scene that provoked her disturbance?

 _Later on that night she been to the bathrooms, and then been wandering to escape to more quieter areas. She passed a corner; then a dimly-lit corridor half bathed in shadow. She saw a man and a woman, but the woman was strangely still in his arms. Kisses on her throat. Perhaps, she may have felt blushing embarrassment at stumbling upon the intimacy of others. But that had not been all there was to it. It was an intimacy that seemed more violation than consensual. And something stranger which disturbed her._

 _Skin so unwholesome white, like the grey ashen shade of a corpse. And his movement, the arch of the neck; lick of the tongue across red wet lips. A subtle motion as he leaned over a hapless victim. More like the languor of a predatory animal satisfied by its triumph and about to slake its hunger, than simple human intimacy._

 _Cold had hit her like a lightening fear._

 _And she diminished in silence. Too unnerved to linger. Something of that inhuman figure frightened her. She went with the nervous feeling of hunted prey, hoping dearly to evade the notice of a predator. She had a nervous energy ready to uncoil like a spring at a moments notice. On edge with adrenaline for when the anticipated; inevitable pursuit came…_

 _She walked away with wariness. A dreadful slowness. It felt like an age to make a reassuring distance, time almost slowed, and she dared not to move nor breathe should the creature notice her. But almost as soon as relief started to wash through her as she slipped back around a corner, she walked into something. On edge. Highly-strung. She could have screamed._

 _Yes… there was him to think about as well. And in many ways, her thoughts dwelled more on him, than what had scared her. But her memory felt strangely vague. Yet at the same time remained clear as day._

 _She might have felt reassured by the presence of a man who seemed to give protection. He had reassured her; offered her safety. So it seemed. Fair-haired. Dark-colour suit that seemed expensive. His skin was so pale; and eyes were a clear grey. He had a handsome face. Given this, it was understandable to be fascinated by him, and that she was. After all, this dream or memory lingered not just as a nightmare, but because this intriguing figure that was hard to forget._

 _But those grey eyes were frightening. They seemed to reach into the soul. At points, she felt as if they had a cold grasp upon her. Something in his gaze and disposition gave her an uneasy feeling, as much as it fascinated her._

The very first time she encountered him was the most certain memory. Perhaps it was the sensory stimuli of touch - she had walked right into him. He felt cool… Though, rationally, she knew there was no sense in dwelling on that. She wasn't touching him skin on skin to be sure. But, there was something almost reminiscent of the other that chilled her to the bone. That same uncanny feeling. Although, this dissipated a little as he spoke to her. And she had the memory of his voice almost a velvet touch upon her skin. There was something to him. She couldn't help but think of him over the last few days since that night. She had a certain perception for the strange. The sense for it came to her every now and then. And this was such an occasion.

What happened then? This she wondered. She remembered a little of the rest. Some of it was vivid. Some of it was vague. Maybe, it was all just a dream. But this could not true. It had been a real event; a real night - hadn't it?

She glanced at the alarm clock again. An hour had passed! How deep in these thoughts she must have been. She let herself fall back down on the bed with a sigh. It was still early, yet not enough for it to be worthwhile to go back to sleep. The time would be spent in more valuable ways than in her bed. Normally, Amelia wasn't really one for mornings. She preferred the night. The romance of its black hours. However, now she had reason to feel ill at ease, and she was nervous of lingering alone in it. Sometimes, such strange and dangerous characters were abroad at night.

...

Later that day, Amelia went to the university library. She had pulled herself together after hanging around in her room for a couple of hours. Some of her motivation was to seek a distraction. Doing some work on her reflective portfolio was a useful objective. And would, she hoped, occupy her mind enough for a few hours.

The library was designed in late nineteenth century renaissance revival, and was the second of the two main libraries. It was primarily dedicated to art, design, architecture and information science. The latter of which was her subject. However, being of a creative disposition, and given that her undergraduate degree had focused on historical studies including art history, she sometimes looked the art and design collections. She loved the impressive setting of that library. She would miss it.

She had been in New York for one semester as an exchange student. But, as she had recently completed final assignments here, she would be returning home within a few weeks. And soon, all her graduate studies would be complete, save for putting the finishing touches to her reflective portfolio. That wouldn't take too long. She had worked on it all year, and so it was largely a matter of completing the final draft. Otherwise, she only had to wait for her results and hopefully she would pass. As she knew the majority of her module grades, save for the reflective portfolio, she could calculate a pretty good estimate of her classification. The majority of her results were fairly high. All her assignments in New York had been graded with at least a 3.5 GPA. Her performance at her home institution in the UK was similar. Perhaps not the very top of the class - she wouldn't be a "Valedictorian", had that been a tradition at British universities. But her results were consistently high and respectable, and it looked like she was on the right course. She sometimes put overly hard expectations upon herself, particularly in comparison to others whom she admired, or perceived to be superior in certain ways to herself. But this simply stifled her own ambitions and potential in negativity and self-doubt.

She was on one of the lower floors at the library. Taking up a desk hidden among the stacks in an obscure corner. It was one of those areas that had quite a few weird and wonderful volumes, some quite old, and one particular row of shelves seemed dedicated to all manner of well-known and obscure gothic and occult tomes. It added to the slightly creepy ambiance of this darker and quite silent area. She liked that… Or, would have under normal circumstances. Actually, it made her feel a little weird. A strange synchronicity, given her persistent dream and recent memories.

She did work for few hours. She could see a chink of outside light through the window, which was at the very end of the long rows of shelving. She'd chosen this position because seeing it was reassuring. Usually, it wouldn't have bothered her, but she was still a bit wary. There were golden tones of the sun getting low in the sky. It would soon set. Sighing, she put the lid on her pen and dropped it back into her stationary case. And then everything, papers, notebook and all, went into her bag. She was going to go home, but decided that she might stop by the cafe first. On the way out, she went past the gothic shelves.

One particular book was emblazoned "VAMPYRES" in garish blood-red letters down its thick spine. Generally, it made her smile each time that it caught her eye. But today it was more of a morbid curiosity. Why was it interesting? She'd read plenty of books like that before… but she picked it up on a whim. There might not be another opportunity to look at it.

After leaving, she crossed the main campus quadrangle, and was at the cafe which had become her preferred haunt. The ambience and setting were stylish, but laid back; without the pretension that some places aimed at the young easily slipped into. The food and coffee were both pretty good, and perhaps more importantly, had reasonable prices.

She was sitting in a cosy corner of the banquette seating booths. It had an upholstery of smooth tan leather, with just enough wear and lived-in feel to be stylish and luxurious. Whereas, something synthetic would fray and peel, rather than take on that handsome wear of the genuine article. It was easy to want to touch that luxuriant fabric. She did love good interior design and quality materials.

Taking a sip of coffee, her thoughts drifted back to this morning's dream. It continued to linger. There was more to it than just… that… man? That _thing_? What he - it - was doing? She'd only had a few seconds glimpse, and remained unsure. Perhaps, her imagination had built it up into more than it was. And yet, that night she had been genuinely disturbed, and this couldn't be easily dismissed. Then about the blonde man… his presence intrigued her, though it also piqued her intuition with an uncertain fear. But, more than this, it was what he had said to her. This replayed in her head, as if the memory was progressively returning to clarity again.

 _She recalled flashes of memory. Of him guiding her away from the scene. Of inviting to take her home. Of being in the limousine. Black leather seats, the material crisp quality under her fingers. He sat beside her, though there was a comfortable distance between them. The interior was dim; the shadows cast the angles of his face in relief. His eyes seemed almost luminescent._

 _Watching the streets roll by. Nearly home…_

 _"_ _We won't be too long, I imagine," he glanced through the windows. She could see his grey eyes survey the passing scenes, though his interest and manner was aloof; above the fray. His handsome profile was illuminated by the lights outside._

 _"_ _What is your name?" He turned his attention to her again, and his voice seemed almost soft._

 _"_ _Amelia."_

 _She couldn't remember if he'd told her who he was. She still didn't know that…_

 _He'd asked her what she'd seen, of course. And, she could only tell him about it in vague ways, because she didn't understand the exact truth of it. She felt like he had got more out of her, than she herself could now remember. She was still a little hazy on details. Sometimes, it seemed like the conversation lasted a long time. At others, it felt like it had been so brief._

 _He asked her about herself, prompted perhaps by what she was doing at that event in the first place._

 _"_ _Well, I volunteer at the library. Just for the semester I've been here. I'm an exchange student…" She may have gone into more details about what her study area and professional training was, but she wasn't sure._

 _"_ _I see. You are from England, yes?" He looked at her in a way that gave the impression of knowing the obvious answer. "You will be returning home soon then."_

 _"_ _Yes. I'll have finished at university at home too. In a couple of months anyway."_

 _"_ _What plans do you have then?" He seemed to make smalltalk with her, which usually she found awkward. But with him, she remembered it as feeling easy._

 _Her eyes dropped and she picked at her skirt, "… I haven't secured a work position yet, I'm still looking at the moment. There might be a couple of opportunities that have potential. I haven't decided yet."_

 _The car slowed to a stop. She was about to go home, and part ways with him._

 _"_ _Well, I wish you success then. You will find something." He sounded so sure. She wished to have that sort of assuredness in herself. "In fact, I might know an opportunity that would suit you. I'll keep you in mind." His expression was still fairly aloof, but his voice was soft and inviting, "until then…"_

"Would you like another coffee?" Amelia was jolted out of her daydream. She'd been staring into space for a long time, and she almost jumped when the waitress interrupted.

"Oh, sorry. Erm, no it's ok. I'm fine, thanks." She shook her head; smiled almost forcefully. She relaxed her hands when she realised that she'd been gripping onto the table edge.

The waitress went away. Amelia sighed, feeling her pulse gradually return back to normal. She gathered her previous thoughts again. Did he really say that he might know an opportunity suitable for her? That he'd keep her in mind? She couldn't quite sort the real from the imagined. Yet, it seemed more the former than the latter.

But how could she ever be in contact with him again? She didn't even remember who he was. Was he real, and not a figment of her imagination? She thought hard, in fact her brows furrowed from effort, as she tried to find a name hidden somewhere in her mind. Did he have her details? One weird coincidence happened when she had checked her business cards stack yesterday. She felt almost foolish having something like that, but she'd designed it as a little graphic design project for herself. It was useful after all. And, given that she was at a university primary known for design and applied arts, she might as well take advantage of facilities… She was sure that she'd had 6 printed. She had checked several times, but one was missing. Had she given it to him? That meant the whole thing was real - he was real - and not all a dream.

Naturally over the last few weeks, her mind had turned to thinking about jobs. She had registered at agencies, and had membership of the professional association specialising in her field. But, she had yet to finalise anything so far. Some opportunities required greater experience than she currently possessed. Perhaps, another internship or a temporary contract might be favourable to her, and both were likely scenarios to arise.

Thinking about this made her a little nervous. Sighing, she looked out of the window. The skyline of skyscraper sepulchres to power, wealth and commerce. The sky itself had dull clouds full of rain. She should have brought her coat…

Previously when she had graduated from her BA, she had not been particularly successful in securing graduate employment or training schemes. This was largely due to a lack of confidence and self-doubt, rather than actual inferiority. There had been many options. And, like the feeling of this city, she'd felt overwhelmed. Like she didn't measure up to others. She hadn't really been sure what to do with herself. There had been a year between her BA graduation and starting her MSc. During that time, she had secured volunteering and temporary work here and there, and sometimes unemployment benefit, which she found slightly humiliating. But, it had added to her work experience and resilience. Sometimes struggle was necessary. She did have the ability and potential. She was the type of personality motivated by achievement. All she had needed was a goal.

So, she applied to go to graduate school. Amelia was essentially a librarian or an archivist, although she might refer to herself as an information management specialist. Given her concern for career prospects, she decided against studying librarianship or archives qualifications, at least in their traditional form. Those vocations tended to have a dearth of vacancies, rather than a surplus. So, she'd chosen her programme because it was mainly concerned with specialised forms of information management, and skills in information technology. One of her specialisms was corporate business information management - hence her internship at the LaCroix Foundation. She still had historical interests, and also had training in archives, records and special collections - antiquarian books; manuscripts; curation and preservation, that sort of thing. She would have enjoyed interning at one of the major museums, galleries, libraries or archives in London, but she already had a good amount of volunteering for those. And besides, jobs in those sectors tended to be rare. She had lacked professional experience in a corporate environment, so the internship at LaCroix rectified that. It was just simple pragmatics. Still, she wasn't sure if multinational corporations would suit her, but she could benefit from the experience and skills. In a similar way, she hadn't necessarily had a great desire to study in London - nor do her study abroad in New York for that matter. She was not really a big city person, but she didn't ind the experience. Her graduate programme was one of the best. Because it was in London, good opportunities were more numerous, and her university was known for professional training and industry connections. She could manage it for the 18-month length of her course. And as for New York, she'd be back at home soon… but perhaps only temporarily.

A couple of mornings ago, she received an interesting offer. At the time, she had been packing her belongings - she had no more studies, and her tenancy contract ended soon. She wanted to get everything organised in advance, rather than last minute.

It was an email from Matthew Hofer, a manager at the LaCroix Foundation London offices.

 _[Subject: An Enquiry]_

 _Miss Amelia Siddall,_

 _It was nice meeting you again last week. I have been asked to forward an enquiry for your attention. As you are aware, it is not unusual for an offer of employment to be made to successful participants of our internship programmes._

 _However, this position is slightly different to what is typically offered. The CEO would like to recruit a new personal assistant to join his private staff, specifically someone of your qualifications and experience for projects that need attention. As the organisation is currently expanding in Los Angeles, there is much work to do in this regard._

 _I have attached further details for you to read. Please, do not hesitate to respond and ask questions. If you are interested, we can discuss further._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Matthew Hofer._

She had stared at this email; rereading it over and over. Hofer was fairly senior and she rarely saw him, although he had been on an interview panel. Actually, when she thought about it, she couldn't think of ever seeing him except in the very late afternoons or evenings. He was interesting, if somewhat unusual. Strangely, some employees in his department seemed to follow a certain pattern… But anyway, he was in New York too at the moment. In fact, he had spoken to her a little at that event last week, which had been the setting for the strange dreams. Coincidentally, ever since the day she got this email, she started dreaming about it again.

The vacancy was based in New York, and she was a little intimidated by the details. She had considered private staff positions, but did not expect to obtain anything for someone like Sebastian LaCroix, the CEO of the LaCroix Foundation. She was unsure if she would really be qualified for it. This must be an error! Or, perhaps not. She had interned at the LaCroix Foundation. She did have suitable qualifications… But this could not wholly justify it. Why would she be chosen to work for the CEO himself? Her only real professional experience was that internship! Plus, a couple of short work placements at the faculty of arts office and special collections library. She was puzzled by this. Wouldn't she need greater secretarial and PA experience, neither of which she had? But, in spite of her doubts, she had sent a reply expressing interest, and curiosity for further details.

 _[Subject: RE: An Enquiry]_

 _Thank you for your email. I have read the attachments kindly given by you, and I am very interested. However, I would like further details and clarity regarding the duties and responsibilities, if that is ok._

 _I have been in New York as an exchange student, as part of my graduate programme, MSc Information Management at 'University of —, London'. I have completed studies, and will be graduating shortly with a forecasted classification of merit (GPA 3.7). I have completed a portfolio for my degree module projects, which I can also send to you, if that would be useful._

 _For reference, please find attached my updated CV._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Amelia Siddall_

That was just under a week ago. And since then there had been further correspondence; a meeting and she'd spoken to one of LaCroix's PAs on the phone. She had been made the offer.

Apart from her dreams, she mainly thought about whether or not to accept. She had a weird feeling of synchronicity, like there was a relationship between this and her dreams about that man. She wondered if… no. Maybe?

There still caution with which she considered the offer, but she felt drawn to agreement. It was as if a sense of fate push her to it.

It was a temporary situation for a few months. The salary was very decent, and included accommodation expenses. The prestige alone was surely an attraction. She supposed she didn't have a real reason to refuse. She was reluctant to be permanently far away from home, but as it was temporary… Apart from that, she didn't have any serious ties or commitments to prevent her. She had some university friends, but she felt the closeness ebbing away. And she had no romantic prospects either. Actually… she'd begun to feel slightly more ill at ease with that than she had before. As teenager she was a shy, bookish girl; sheltered and more focused on her educational goals than sex or romance. But at twenty three, it would be nice to make consideration for both… But why did she think of this? It wasn't relevant. She sipped the last of her coffee. It was almost too cold to enjoy now, and only the milk froth remained.

She got home slightly wet by rain. And then thought about the offer more. She needed to make a decision. And eventually, she typed a response in acceptance. After a pause, she shut her eyes and clicked * _send*_. A sense of relief and trepidation.

The next evening, she received an email.

 _[Subject: RE: An Offer]_

 _Dear Miss Amelia Siddall,_

 _My associates have notified me of your interest following your correspondence and meetings. I am pleased by your acceptance, and confirm that you have successfully secured the position. You will report directly to myself, but will work with my personal staff and report to them for day-to-day matters on my behalf. We can discuss your exact start date. However, I would prefer that you start within the month._

 _An official offer letter will be sent to you shortly, with the specific details and terms, for your benefit. Please return a signed copy as soon as possible._

 _I look forward to meeting you. And please, do not hesitate to contact myself or my PA, should you have any questions._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Sebastian LaCroix_


	3. Chapter 3

Author Note: Here's the new chapter. Thanks for reading :)

* * *

It was the start of a new year and a winter night. Amelia Siddall stood on the sidewalk, glancing back as the chauffeured car pulled away. She clutched a piece of paper - a confirmation letter with instructions which she scrutinised. How silly she might look if she was in the wrong place. She slipped it into her leather handbag, the better one she owned. She should at least look the part. Just over a month since her acceptance of this position, it was her first time back in the city.

In front of her was a townhouse, looming several storeys high. The exterior lights had a red-orange glow which reflected on the long windows. Wrought-iron bars of fencing marked the perimeter. She buzzed the intercom at the gate. And there was a pause. A low sound as the gates rolled open. With access granted, she went through with her luggage, and the gate closed behind her more suddenly than expected. Once up the threshold of stairs, at the front door she looked around for a bell or intercom, but there seemed to be none. Behind her, the gates were shut. There was no one else around. A dull glow through the windows, but it wasn't possible to look inside. A cool breeze caught her dark hair, and her warm breath steamed on the chilled air. She hoped that she wouldn't be outside for too long.

The front entrance was a double door of solid wood with no glass. She was going to use the door knocker, but found that the door yielded to even this light touch. Her brows furrowed and she sighed. _Had it been unlocked all this time? And I just stood there like an idiot_. She pushed the door open fully, realising that there was no one behind it. As was a common architectural feature of old houses, there was a small vestibule, a type of porch, between the front door and a set of French doors. A glimpse of the interior through the glass panels showed it to be just as grand as the facade had promised. Like the first set, these doors were also unlocked. Her gaze drifted up to take in more of the interior revealed to her. The entrance hall was of a handsome classic design, not unexpected of this type of property.

She looked around, "hello?'' No response. Not sure what to do, she decided to go to the table at the centre of the room. Perhaps something there might give her clues. Glad to get the cumbersome luggage out of the way, she left them beside the doors.

The table top a glossy rosewood and relatively clear, save for a neat envelope. It had her name on it. Unfolding the embossed paper, there was a note written in an elegant hand.

 _"Miss Siddall,_

 _Welcome. Forgive the absence of someone to greet you in person as soon as you arrive. There were some last minute changes, and unfortunately, you could not be notified at short notice. But I trust that your journey has been a safe and pleasant one._

 _I believe that you will find the suite I have provided you comfortable and the amenities sufficient, so please make yourself comfortable. Also attached with this letter, are some details for you to read._

 _Someone will meet with you soon, so wait here or in the study._

 _I look forward to seeing you, perhaps tonight or another. We shall see. As it is quite late, you will not be expected to start early tomorrow. Sleep well tonight._

 _Yours,_

 _S. LaCroix."_

Somehow, she couldn't help but smile to herself. It did make her feel at ease. LaCroix seemed nice. She had heard vaguely of the man, but he was somewhat elusive. He was a businessman in possession of several lucrative ventures and CEO of the LaCroix Foundation. She had interned there, but of course, being a simple intern meant she had never met him in person, nor was ever likely to. It seemed that not many did, except at exclusive occasions and in business. However, of his personal self, that was little known. Perhaps, it was so mundane as to be not worth mentioning. Or, it was quite the mystery. Either way, she was intrigued to finally meet him…

She leafed through the other piece of paper enclosed in the envelope. Just some general guidance about where things were; where to go, et cetera. She slipped it into her bag. Moving deeper into the hall, through a door on the left was a cloakroom, a washroom and an elevator. At one time, she thought, these may have been a butler's pantry or service rooms. There was a backstairs visible through the glass of one locked door. Surely, there were staff? Yet, no one had come to meet her immediately. But who had unlocked the gates and front door?

The study was a room just off the entrance hall. And she may choose to wait there as LaCroix had suggested, but she wanted to explore a little while she had the time. The staircase, probably at the centre of the house, swept up to the next floors. In the daytime, she imagined this inner hall to be bathed in natural light from the skylight above. But now, all that could be seen was the cloudy night sky. She buttoned her coat up again. The house was quite chilly, and she was glad that she hadn't left her coat in the cloakroom. Seeing the interiors was dizzying. She turned on the spot; looking up at the overwhelming architecture of the stairway. The sofa beneath the stairs looked inviting. It was the first time she'd had a chance to sit down and collect herself.

Amelia was still surprised to have been offered this position. For persons such as Sebastian LaCroix, it was not atypical to hire private staff. Plenty of agencies specialised in supplying that demand. In truth, it was just a temporary role, essentially as a personal secretary. It diverged therefore from her vocation. But, it was a start.

Whilst most duties were administrative and clerical expected of secretarial work, there were still aspects of interest to her. The management of business and archival information materials, or updating records to modern forms, perhaps. In that regard, she had training and experience of corporate information management, particularly from her internship at the LaCroix Foundation, which was largely responsible in getting her this job. However, being a librarian archivist, her heart was in antiquarian and special collections material. But that area seldom had a surplus of vacancies, and those usually required extensive experience and established reputation. However, this role offered some opportunity in this subject too. Hiring librarians or archivists for private individuals was rare, but not unheard of. Those of noble lineage, or Old Money families of great wealth and industry, often had collections and records spanning centuries. And those required professional attention, which secretarial assistants tended not to offer, which was why she had been chosen. But still. A young; relatively inexperienced graduate seemed an unlikely choice. Absurd even. But _she_ had the job, and so she must excel.

A glance at her watch. _Hmmm, eight in the evening._ And still, the house appeared deserted. She shrugged, deciding to visit the guest washroom while she waited.

When she came out again, she happened to glance at the entrance hall, but had a double take as her luggage wasn't there anymore. Her heartbeat quickened in surprise. _Where had they gone? I definitely put them in that exact spot, didn't I?_

She checked the front doors, and found them to be locked. Turning around back into the hall, she called, "hello? Is anyone there?''

Nothing.

Now, she was rather puzzled. Clearly, someone else was here after all. And if there were house staff, it seemed they were remarkably discreet, perhaps they were ghosts! She whirled out of the room, back into the staircase hall.

"Hey, you must be Amelia, right?" Seemingly out of nowhere, a man greeted her, with a likeable directness that added to the impression she had of him. Since being in America, she was beginning to grow accustomed to the accents, but even so the novelty remained as she had previously mostly been familiar with them in films, rather than in person. He appeared to be in his thirties and was of average height. He had brown hair and blue eyes that held a determined quality, mirroring the strong set of his jawline. Curiously, his clothes stood out to her for the seventies styling and this, along with the hardiness in his expression, struck her as Mafioso-like. However, she pushed that thought aside, thinking it fanciful.

''I am, yes,'' she stood next to the sofa, a hand on it. "Do you want to see my ID or something, just so you know that I'm not an imposter?'' She smiled.

''Nah. LaCroix told me to expect someone fitting your description,'' he replied as if slightly disarmed by her. "Well, it's nice to meet you. Name's Mercurio.''

"Nice to meet you. I was beginning to think that I'd be waiting forever," she smiled; shaking his hand as he offered it to her.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was just doin' something. Was just looking for you actually. LaCroix would kill me if I lost you.'' This he said in a gravely earnest manner, and she wasn't sure whether to take it as a joke or serious.

She furrowed her brows, ''oh, I'm sure he wouldn't really.''

Mercurio just smiled tightly. "I've taken your stuff up to your room already, in case you were wondering. I can take you up there too now if you want. Or, maybe show you where some things are first?"

''Yeah, that would probably be useful.''

''Sure,'' he began leading her. "Won't take long. I'll just show you the main areas. I suppose you're pretty tired, huh?"

She started following him, talking as they went. On the lower ground floor, there was the main kitchen; a laundry room and other similar service rooms which it might be useful to know about. As they went up the staircase, he told her briefly what was on each floor. She asked him a few questions. Some of his answers were detailed and the conversation pleasant. But sometimes, he was slightly evasive.

"What do you do exactly - for LaCroix I mean?'' Amelia followed him up the last flight of stairs, before turning into the landing.

"Oh, just a few jobs here and there. Actually, you probably won't see much of me. I need to head out west to LA soon,'' he grimaced, but did not elaborate. "LaCroix just asked me to "check you in", so to speak."

Amelia thought he was some sort of odd-job man. "Are there not, er, house staff to do that?''

He thought for a moment, his gaze shifting. ''Yeah, there are. He has a PA, who you will probably see. Some others for housekeeping. It's not unusual around here to have staff - housekeeper; domestics; cooks; PAs; nanny; security - you get the picture. But I don't think he's too fond of all that. Doesn't need it all anyway. Just the essentials.'' He led her down a short corridor, quite dimly lit except for a few wall-lights, and stopped in front of a door. "This is it."

"Oh ok.'' Amelia took the key he gave her. "What you said about staff. That sounds reasonable. I shouldn't want so many people in my house if it was me. But, before you go, I'm curious. Is he here much?"

"You probably won't see much of him. Not in the day anyway he's - er, got business to deal with.'' As he spoke she got the impression that there was more than he let on, but she could not deduce what it was. Sebastian LaCroix was a CEO of a major company. Apart from that, he probably had other important engagements in matters of business, finance, governance and other elite activities, which such people often involve themselves in. She did not therefore think to question the truth of him being away during the day. ''In fact, he's busy most of the time. So, you might not even see him at night either.''

''Yeah, I figured.''

Mercurio laughed, ''you sound almost disappointed. Want to meet the main man real bad, huh? Well, I think he does want to see you soon, or so I've heard." He saw that her face lit up a bit, as if to say - "really," with the enthusiasm of naiveté. "Just so you know, he's not exactly, erm,'' he grimaced, as if something made it hard for him. "Well, he's not the most easygoing person, just to give you some warning. Although, for what it's worth, I've only met him in person a couple of times.''

''Well, with someone like him, I kind of expected as much,'' she gulped. Worried about doing a good enough job, or even being qualified enough. She dreaded the thought of making mistakes, or to be seen as incompetent. The reference from this engagement could prove invaluable It might be a step forward for her, and she didn't want to mess up the opportunity. ''But, I will see. I'm sure he's not a monster.''

Mercurio smiled thinly. Something passed behind the eyes. ''No… No, I guess not.''

"Ok, well it was nice meeting you, Mercurio," she said as they paused outside the door of her room. "I hope we meet again. Have a nice trip to Los Angeles.''

"Yeah, thanks. To be honest I'm _not_ looking forward to it, but what can you do,'' he shrugged. "Night, Amelia. I hope you find it ok here."

* * *

Finding herself now alone, she took a short tour around her rooms. She was staying on the sixth floor, in one of the two suites here, although it seemed that the other was empty. Originally, these rooms were likely built for live-in staff. But now, the layout remodelled and refurbished, it was doubtful anyone would feel demoted or deprived. It was almost a self-contained apartment, with a bedroom, a lounge and an en-suite bathroom.

Perhaps the only deficiency, there was only a kitchenette, which was practical enough for the basics, but small. If she wanted to make anything more elaborate, she would have to go all the way down to the main kitchen on the lower ground floor. Or, even dine with LaCroix himself on some occasion!

When this arrangement had first been proposed to her, she had been unsure of it. Actually living in her employers house seemed odd. She was unaccustomed to live-in staff work and belonged to the modern age, where this was less usual than in previous eras. It might have seemed unseemly, but the house was extensive. There were seven floors, and the property housed a couple of smaller apartments, of which hers was one.

However, the principal apartment presided over the majority of floors. There were many rooms and several bedroom suites. Though, not _the_ most elaborate ever built in Manhattan, it was amongst the more impressive of townhouses. Many of those Gilded Age mansions had been demolished; making way for skyscrapers, or were converted into high-end duplexes, boutiques, hotels, department stores or galleries. Few in their original late-19th century glory remained.

Coming back into the centre of the bedroom, _yes_ , she thought, _this is alright_. On the unusualness of essentially living with LaCroix, she felt more at ease. Likewise, she could never have afforded even a little apartment in this area, so it seemed like a kind and convenient gesture.

She sat on the edge of the bed. It had a canopy and seemed antique. In fact, the interior and furnishings was altogether very well-appointed, but almost like being teleported into the early 1900s. It seemed that, for the most part, Mr. LaCroix was not fond of modern design.

Her eyes felt heavy. Her body wanted rest. But it was not yet late at night, and she needed to do some unpacking, and write in her journal. She wanted to start journalling more diligently, and this adventure presented a perfect opportunity. She caressed the soft bedcover under her hand. Perhaps, just a nap. _I'll just do most of the unpacking tomorrow_ , she shook her head.

She had a shower, making use of the fluffy towels provided there. And then went to bed. The bedding was enveloping luxury. She could have sighed; sunk into this embrace of comfort, being so ready for sleep.

* * *

The following day, Amelia slept in until around midday. It was essentially a day-off, and she didn't see anyone else. A breakfast, more accurately brunch, had been laid out on the round table in the sitting room. _I could get used to this_ , she thought while nibbling a piece of rye bread, and looking out of the dormer window on the cityscape. It was quite a cloudy day.

The rest of the afternoon was spent loitering about in her room. She did some unpacking; arranging her belongings to make the rooms homely. The wardrobe and armoire were both quite big, and so she hadn't brought enough clothes to fill either completely. Later on, she did a bit of journal writing, making use of the _Secrétaire._ Her journal was open on the leather writing pad while she wrote. Just after completing a final sentence, there was a knock at the door.

Turning half around in her seat, she stared at the door a moment. And then went to it, almost timidly, opening it slightly ajar. Outside the threshold was a girl, not older than Amelia in age, perhaps younger, and a bit shorter. She was quite pale-faced and a little weary-eyed. However, for the most part, she seemed relatively chipper.

"Hello," she said earnestly. The girl held a piece of paper. "Master LaCroix asked me to deliver this to you."

"Oh, thanks," Amelia took the paper from her hand. " _Master" LaCroix? What was this? The 19th century?_

"Would you like me to take those away for you?" The girl noted the finished plates from breakfast on the table.

"Er, no, you don't have to. I can wash them myself in the kitchenette up here, that's fine."

"No, I'll take those for you," the girl insisted. And so, Amelia felt she might as well let her in, opening the door fully. The girl went towards the table and began tidying it, stacking up the plates and cups.

"Do you work here?" Amelia wondered if she also lived-in. Some properties here still had accommodation for housekeeping staff, so it was not unreasonable.

"I do some of the housekeeping. But at other houses and some offices as well."

"Ok." Amelia was not used to having domestic staff cleaning for her, except when she had stayed at hotels. So this was a little weird, but she could go along with it. She'd just think of herself as being on holiday, except that there was work to do. "Thanks for that, er, what's your name?"

"Leticia," the girl smiled, holding the tray in both hands, as she stood in the doorway.

"Ok, well, thanks Leticia. Have a good evening." She watched her go down the corridor, before shutting the door again.

Leaning back on the door, it was still unfamiliar to be in a setting where having private staff was normal. But, after all, she was really no different to Leticia. It was just that she was doing administrative work, rather than cleaning. Actually, her grandmother had been a domestic servant, a parlour maid, so Amelia was not one to feel superior. In an earlier time, she too would likely have had such a job.

Once opened, the note read:

 _"I'd like to see you at nine tonight. You may wait in the drawing room on the second floor."_

 _S. L._

 _Hmmm, another note from LaCroix._ _So, I'll be meeting him soon_. A mixture of feelings went through her. Nerves, but also a little excitement. It was better to know who she worked for. And it was good, almost surprising, that he was actually bothering. It was quite believable that someone like him would have little to do with a simple secretarial employee.

Still wearing her nightdress and dressing gown, she'd needed to get ready. She could hardly meet LaCroix dressed like this! It was 6pm, and so there was a couple of hours for her to get ready.

* * *

Downstairs in the drawing room, Amelia paced the floor a little as she waited. In the mirror above a console table between the long windows, was her reflection. She hadn't done anything elaborate. Just bushed her hair, and let it hang as it naturally did in dark, thick waves which framed her face. She wore a deep-blue skater dress with mid length sleeves. It was smart and well-made, and fitted her well, but was casual and not overly glamorous looking. It wasn't a date after all.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed. It was just past nine at night. _I wonder where LaCroix is?_ She turned on the spot; her back to the room as she brushed the curtains aside and looked out of the window. It was almost pitch black outside, if not for the lights of the city.

Just a casual glance, her eye caught something in the mirror. A glimmer of light from the gallery outside. A chance reflection of a figure, striking due to his familiarity. She whipped around, thinking this a trick of the light; or a figment of imagination born from her dreams.

At the opposite side of the room, it seemed out of the shadowy darkness, was a man. Fair haired; of an average height and build, and dressed in a dark suit. He was occupied in reading some papers, which were held in one hand. His light eyes scanned over them; his pleasing profile and bearing an air of casual hauteur. He had noticed her, though he did not rush to greet her. It was almost brusque when he did acknowledge her. "Miss Siddall, good evening."

She stared at him. "…er, good evening." She felt almost rooted to the spot. It was hard to articulate any words, "Mr.?"

"Sebastian LaCroix," he replied. She noted his pronunciation of his name to be the correct way, unlike others who did not. She assumed that he himself was of French extraction or descent, although his accent seemed to show little trace of it. He put the papers down on the side-table, and then his full attention turned to her. "Forgive the lateness of this meeting, and that I was not here to welcome you yesterday. But, you see, I had some business."

"I understand," she nodded. Almost entranced as he approached her. The whole thing seemed almost surreal. She had dreamed of him, and so all the more to be in a sea of wonder at seeing him now. It meant that it was not a dream at all. Yet, she was not quite sure how to broach that subject. Perhaps, if she did, he would think her mad, or of an overly romantic imagination. "Thank you for letting me know in your note yesterday, by the way. I wasn't sure what to expect when I came in, so it was thoughtful of you."

"Pleasure," he almost smiled. With a courtly gesture, he bid her to sit down. "Do you find your room acceptable?"

Sitting down on one of the sofas in the room, she was still a little nervous. "Yes. It's very nice. I suppose I've only been in it one night. And I've started unpacking… er, but I think I will like it." It felt awkward answering; like she was just rambling. But she wasn't capable of much else at this moment.

"Good. If you need anything, or if something is wrong, let it be known." He went over to the sideboard, which had some decanters. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Yes. Actually, I am quite thirsty," she affirmed, "just some water?" He poured the glass and passed it to her, before sitting on the chair to her left. She sipped it, and held the glass in both hands on her lap.

LaCroix asked her about her journey yesterday, and she told him some of the details of it. He also asked of her experiences on arrival. Apparently, she answered his questions in such a way that she unintentionally revealed some deficiency in Mercurio's conduct.

He scowled a little. "Nothing was brought to you? Mercurio should have arranged that.''

"It's ok. I guess he forgot," she shrugged. It was only that he hadn't brought her supper last night. But it seemed that, at times, Lacroix could be very exacting.

"Perhaps, but he _was_ remiss. He'll be reminded of it." A slightly sinister undertone. Now she could sense why Mercurio had told her LaCroix was demanding. "Speaking of which, have you eaten yet today?"

"I had breakfast earlier. But that was quite a few hours ago now,'' she shook her head. I am pretty hungry actually." In truth, she was quite famished. She hadn't eaten in… hours? And so, the thought of it was appealing to her, even if it was so late at night.

"I see. Well, come, we can go to the dining room. A meal can be brought for you there." He rose from his seat and she followed his lead, taking her glass with her. He opened the door for her, then went across the staircase gallery, through to the opposite doors. Beyond those, was the dining room. Paintings were on the walls and it was furnished with antique furniture; it was in an early 19th-century style. At the centre was the dining table, a solid piece of furniture that extended to a great length, but at the moment was at it's smallest, seating up to six.

"Please, sit down," he gestured to one of the chairs at the table.

She slipped into the seat to his left, as he took the head of the table. Something had been arranged, and after a short wait, a meal arrived. A cold, very delicious supper. But it was only for her.

LaCroix observed the young woman. She was just as he remembered, it seemed that little had been change in her appearance since then. He talked to her only a little while she ate. There was only a passing curiosity in him about what she was eating, given that the enjoyment of food was for him a distant memory. And, besides, he did not really miss it. When it came to pleasure in consumption, he had a very different interest. One that he did not want Miss Siddall to become aware of yet.

"You know, I feel a little greedy eating while you are not,'' Amelia paused to take a sip of water.

"Don't hesitate on my account. I have already dined," LaCroix seemed quite genial then, though she could not discern why.

"Plus, I suppose it is quite late. Er, do you have dinner out a lot then?" She looked at him inquisitively.

"Sometimes." He didn't elaborate, and she didn't press the subject because there was no reason to.

She finished the last few bites of her meal, before setting down her knife and fork.

"I take it you enjoyed that," his grey eyes drifted over her plate, noting that it was completely empty.

"Yes, it was good. I hadn't realised how hungry I was," she laughed. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"It's no trouble, Miss Siddall. The least I could do." Sebastian LaCroix seemed relatively affable. Her impression of him was positive on the whole, at least so far. They talked for a little while longer. Some details about her work and such. The conversation gradually warming up from the slightly surreal, cold place it had been. Her curiosity was strengthened, and she felt a shade more daring. She wanted to ask him about that night they'd met before, and which she now knew was real, even though parts of it remained mysterious.

"Can I ask you a question?" She waited for his affirmation to proceed.

"I suppose so. What is it you would like to know?"

"We have met before now, haven't we?''

He looked at her, his grey seemed to bore into her as if discerning her intent. " _Yes_. At the event at the public library. A fortunate encounter." He did not elaborate on the darker aspects of that night, referring not at all to the creepy scene which had caused her confusion and some angst ever since. "I told you then, I would consider you for a position, should a suitable one present itself. That it happened to be for myself was merely coincidental."

"Ok." She closed her eyes, finding some self-assurance. "But, why the secrecy? You could have made it clear to me when the offer was made, so I'd know the context. As it was, it seemed to come from nowhere."

"Perhaps. However, the offer details were already quite clear. Even though this role is not typical for interns offered a position, your internship with us had a bearing on it. And so, that fact, together with your particular vocation, and meeting you face-to-face, made the decision to hire you a prudent one. I had a vacancy. You were suitable. Now, perhaps you can forgive me for creating a little mystery. I'm sorry for surprising you. Perhaps, I ought to have been more transparent."

"Well… I guess I knew. I guess it was alluded to, just in an oblique way," she fell into agreeing with him. She had a feeling that with him, it was easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. And ultimately, it didn't really matter. She had always known that the offer and the first meeting with him were connected, if before only as a sense of fate.

His eyes beheld her, then dropped; glanced away with a thought. "Well, that settled, now seems a good time to retire,'' he rose from his chair. "It is quite late, you should go to bed."

"I suppose so. When should I be up tomorrow?" The end to this conversation seemed sudden, and yet, when she glanced at the clock, it was near on midnight.

They moved through the door into the gallery, and she stood at the foot of the stairs. She rested her hand on the polished wooden stair-rail, almost as reassurance for her nervous hands.

"Much the same as today, if you like," LaCroix replied. "You will be briefed on your tasks then, so try to sleep well."

"Oh, ok. Well good night,'' she said, lingering on the stair.

"Good night, Miss Siddall. It was pleasant to see you again."


	4. Chapter 4

Amelia locked the apartment door behind her and stood with her back against it for a few moments. She had just come back upstairs to her apartment after talking to Sebastian LaCroix. Before this, she had never expected to see much of him, except on rare occasions or in passing. So meeting him now on the second night of her stay, had been a surprise. The conversation, though brief, put her at ease - mostly. It would have been a normal, even mundane meeting with her employer… had it not been for discovering that this was not the first time they had met. That was mortifying. An uneasy dread buried and half-ignored within. But she didn't want to show it.

So now, with her adrenaline of anxiousness, the solitude here was soothing.

What to think? He had admitted to meeting her before, and that he had offered her the job as a result. Perhaps she shouldn't dwell on this so much. It was just… That night on which she had first encountered him had haunted her dreams. Those had faded. She could rationalise them as fantasy. But this changed things. At least part of it was real… Her attendance of the event itself was never in dispute, but her memory of Sebastian LaCroix had been, and so this confirmation resolved some uncertainty.

But brought its own problems too. _Was all of it real?_ A disturbing thought. But one that had lived in her as a dark knowledge she did not want to be true. Maybe from a glimpse of something she had got the wrong impression. Sometimes, she was sure that she had a sense for the supernatural. No stranger to feeling icy dread that grew oppressive - of past evil and tragedy; hauntings or an evil presence. Most of these experiences were faint. From a vivid imagination, all could be her mind spinning ideas out of nothing. That evil entity was surely of this origin, even though the memory was etched too deep to forget.

So what if her conversation with LaCroix was entirely real? That didn't mean the strange scene nor unsettling intuitions were also. But the knowledge that the experience was partly true, led her one step closer to believing - perhaps even discovering - all of it to be.

Finally, she moved from the door. Shoes off and left by the coat-stand in the small entrance hall. She occupied herself with other things as distraction to not think about it. Until she had changed and gotten into bed. Sleeping did not generally come easily to her, especially not early nights unless she was very tired. It was not that she was immensely troubled. It wouldn't be impossible to rest easy. Maybe it was just excitement at the newness of the situation. Since she had picked over everything else over and over, there was little reason to dwell on it anymore without new facts. She'd have to take LaCroix's word for now. In fact, she'd given so much thought to the connection between of having this job and the unsettling night from her dream, that she had scarcely given much reflection on what she thought of Sebastian LaCroix himself.

He did seem generally affable. He put her at ease, and she was in some way elated by the interaction with him. But on reflection he was rather distant. Cold even. Perhaps, he was just professional and businesslike. And, for the first meeting (in this situation anyway), it wasn't unusual for the conversation to not flow like they had known each other forever. Aloofness may suggest that genuine warmth was not to be expected from him. But since he was employing her for a temporary assignment, that didn't really matter so long as it was cordial.

About his aura, she felt an instinctual knowledge of... something. That same subtle unease from memory and dream, had returned on seeing him in the flesh. He gave her a weird vibe. Even though she had only seen him briefly, there was something about him that made her know something was amiss. But, just as before, she dismissed it. She couldn't explain it yet.

And, as happens to most of us, she tended to ignore this intuition in favour of giving the benefit of the doubt, even though experience shows that feeling to be correct many times. And, if anything, it made her more intrigued. There was something different about him that unnerved and fascinated her. Too curious for her own good?

But the secrecy from him still troubled her. He must have hoped that she wouldn't remember anything. Did he want to avoid unearthing buried memories, if he could keep them under wraps? But this seemed illogical, and from the brief conversations she'd had with him, LaCroix was not a stupid person. He must know that seeing him again would break whatever spell of subterfuge that had existed. But why was there a need for this at all? She wanted to know. This question and the curiosity for an answer, would play on her mind for the coming weeks.

* * *

For the next couple of weeks since her arrival, Amelia had begun work without further incident.

Amongst other general office tasks, her main assignment was to catalogue and assess the condition of library collection items, which were quite numerous, old and rare. Many items had been here a long time, and so the previous records of what was here was old-fashioned, scant or non existent. Did he need a librarian to do that? Perhaps not, but he wanted it done professionally, and the nature of certain items required specialist attention. And speaking for Sebastian LaCroix, had yet to see much of Sebastian LaCroix again, which came as no surprise. So, she was inclined to put her concerns and curiosities to the back of her mind, for now at least.

Amelia sat at the desk in the study, which connected to the library via bifold doors. Today had been much like any other since she'd been here. Typical office hours. Working in the study due to its proximity to the library, or in her room when it was possible.

It was almost 7:30pm - later than she normally stayed. Leticia usually came to help her tidy and lock the items away, but she had yet to come. So, why not take the opportunity to stay longer?

She had figured out that the house was relatively deserted, and seemed remarkably quiet. As had been the case for several days, she was left to her own devices for long stretches of time. She knew there to be some domestic staff - Leticia who would escort her here and back at the start and end of each day. But after that? Almost nothing. Early on in her stay, she had an introductory meeting with his personal assistant, and had worked alongside for the first couple of days. But she had seen less and less of them since they were mostly at the corporate offices.

This stillness was normal in the night but, even in the day, she seemed to be alone, but for the feeling of being watched. It was obvious that she wasn't being left to her own devices as much as it first appeared. Most doors were locked.

The house was large and Mr LaCroix was a person of great wealth. It did not make much sense for there to be no one but herself here. There were many very valuable items. Amongst other things, there was an extensive artwork collection, including several Old Masters - some Rubens and Titian - which stared down from the walls. A few were depictions of Cain slaying Abel - which struck her as philosophical on the subject of human nature, but rather morbid. One hung in the staircase lobby on this floor, and had to be passed each time she entered these rooms. A sight that was awesome but ghoulish. Well, there was no accounting for taste. She found them interesting, but couldn't begin to contemplate the value.

Because of the relocation to Los Angeles, there was a need to manage many items, evidently having amassed quite a lot of things, of which the library collection was just one part. And, in the same way as one might purchase these artwork or antiques for investment, some items that she was working on, no doubt, had great value. Several were old and rare, dating to the late 18th century, and in a variety of languages. With all this, she must not be left alone here so completely.

She wondered about the acquisition and provenance of some items. A book rested on a display cushion on the table. Leather-bound, with nice marbling on the endpapers. It was French; probably 1820s or 1830s. There were many similar examples. Perhaps purchased as investments since some books and manuscripts could fetch incredible sums, but she had not seen records for it. So, she had to assume that these had been possessed for many decades. LaCroix was relatively mysterious, but given his demeanour she assumed he was from an affluent background - it would not surprise her if there was some Blue Blood in the mix. It was quite likely that the older items were inherited; first acquired by family around their time of publication. She would ask him about it.

That would have to wait for some other day.

It was late and, still the winter season, by this time the night was well drawn in. She thought she ought to go soon. There seemed to be more activity at night, however even then it seemed that LaCroix wasn't often here. Staying a bit longer seemed okay, and she let it be known by sending him an email at about 5pm. No reply yet.

Conscious of the time, the itch to leave and go back up to her apartment was present. To be honest, the longer she'd been here, the more the house gave her the creeps. Its oldness, and old but beautiful, fascinating things everywhere. Normally, she wouldn't have minded - would have loved it in fact. After all, her interest was in old things. But being alone in this quietness was unnerving.

She had music on sometimes to cut through the ambience. Quietly though, and usually with earphones on, which she had them on now, but nothing was playing. They did not muffle her hearing to any thing in the room. Absorbed in writing her notes, Amelia looked at the laptop monitor, fingers toyed with her pen in her, and words lightly muttered as she read as if in a trance.

"Good evening Miss Siddall."

She nearly fell off the chair. And leapt up in reflex like a startled cat. Leaning back against the table, her fingers gripped on its edge.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Standing a few metres from her and not far from the door, was Sebastian LaCroix. The lights were on, and though they were not extremely bright, her sight was not obscured. He spoke with the appearance of concern, while approaching further into the room. "You must not have heard me come in," he referred to her earphones.

Her heart still beating fast, she could feel the pulse throughout herself; hear it ring in her head. "No-no it's fine." Her words were nonchalant; put on as a breezy air. But the shakiness in her voice gave it away. _When did he come in!?_ Of his suggestion of her not hearing, she felt compelled to agree and it probably made sense ... but, she knew she would have heard him. Nothing had been playing, and she had keen hearing. He must move very quietly indeed. Like a panther is stealthy to emerge from darkness when hunting its prey. But she won't linger on this thought now. "Erm… did you get my email? I hadn't got a reply so I was a bit uncertain."

"I did." He paused by her chair, which had been cast aside, pushing it back in place in one motion. "But, next time send it to my PA and they will pass the message along. Then, you shall get an answer more quickly."

"Yeah, I should have," she felt chastised, even if he may not have meant to. "You must be busy in the daytime." He seemed to be busy all the time, and she had come to assume that he spent little time at home. He was nowhere to be seen in the day, but that did not strike her as unusual. He was surely at the LaCroix headquarters, or doing some kind of business somewhere. But even in the night, it seemed that he was often out. Amelia had started to think that he actually lived in his office. Perhaps, he was a bit of a workaholic.

"You could say that.'' Beneath the unfazed appearance, was some slight amusement, as though there was something she didn't know. He circled to the side of the desk, his fingertips brushed the edge with a masculine elegance.

"Well, I'll take your advice next time." She turned her head, her eyes following him. Brows furrowed; puzzled by what he'd said. "It's just that as you live here, I thought I should let you know. I just stayed a bit longer than usual today to work on this. And, I assumed as no one seemed to be around, it would be ok? I don't want to intrude."

"It's no matter. You've done nothing wrong. Actually, it is quite timely. I intended to see you soon to see how you are progressing. I've had feedback from others, and seen some of the work done so far. But, since you have been working on this yourself for the past week, I thought I'd see for myself."

"Oh, yes. Of course." Shit I wish I had time to prepare, she thought. To be fair, it was not the case that she had no confidence in what she was doing and how she was doing it. But LaCroix, though polite, she found intimidating at times. He was, at least on first impression, cold and rather imperious, though hospitable on the whole. She could tell he could be exacting. The polite, elegant manner was just part of this same persona, not contrary to it. And that instinctive unease she had of him remained under the surface. This surprise had not helped.

"Shall we?" his voice broke this train of thought. He gestured to share the desk since it was large and had more than one chair. "You can sit back down, Miss Siddall. It won't do to have you hanging onto the desk so awkwardly."

She eased her grip upon the desk edge, and she sank back into her chair, adjacent to where he had sat. That surge of adrenaline, like stage-fright. Yet,projecting a professional air and knowing what she was talking about, gave her the feeling of competence which soothed her nerves.

"Well, since at the start we assessed the assignment documents and the collections records to give me an overview of what I'm working with. To be honest, the assignment reports were quite comprehensive. There doesn't seem to be any faults in them so far as I can tell. The only issue could be if the previous old catalogues were incomplete, or if some items require more attention."

"You were working on this with my PA, were you not?" An almost bored drawl. "I've seen some of the documents."

"Oh, yes. Ok," she looked at him wide-eyed. Uncertain of how to take his words. Chastising herself for rambling.

"The work looks good so far," she felt relief wash over her; cooling the prickly feeling of uncertainty into pride. "And what you have been doing on your on these past few days?"

"I've started organising and working through individual items. I can show you in fact." She laid out some of the written work she'd done, but mostly opened up some of the Word documents and Excel sheets she'd created. "Most of the time now will be taken up with making the condition checks and research backgrounds for each of them, and advise on storage and conservation. So, I can pull all this together to write up some reports."

"Good. You can send those to my PA. You will be doing a final report I presume covering the completed assignment?" she nodded in response. "I'd like to see when you have completed it, but I imagine that it will be some weeks before you are ready."

"Yes, I'd expect to complete that close to the end of my assignment here."

"So long as it is on time, that is fine," he asserted. "Do you have any questions or concerns?"

"Well," she shifted in her chair. In several ways, this assignment warranted more experience than she had. She was qualified, but normally something like this would require a more experienced individual. The fact he had chosen her was just one of several strange aspects to all this. If there was one aspect of this position for which she felt inadequate, it was the ability in languages in rare book librarianship. She felt somewhat ill prepared to deal with all of these since her linguistic skill wasn't advanced. Perhaps her IT skills and knowledge of current information management practices made up for it. "There many volumes in several languages here. Many are English, but a great deal are French, some German and Latin."

"You are not fluent in them? Surely this does not require such advanced language skills - you are not translating their entire contents, after all."

"It's just that it's good to have some linguistic skills to accurately record contents." She knit her fingers, "It's not a problem really, as I can do enough to properly catalogue and categorise them."

"And you can't do this?" he raised his eyebrows, and his sharp gaze sharply appraised her.

"Oh, no I can. I know enough for that. It's just," she shrugged and looked down meekly, "I don't want to give you the impression I can do more than I can."

"If it reassures you, I wouldn't have hired you I didn't think you were capable."

She asked him a few more questions, mostly for clarification of what he wanted done. Hoping not to appear incompetant, but he seemed to accommodate her inexperience. "You don't mind that I'm asking you a few things, do you? I don't want to get too rambling with this," she joked.

"No, I rather that you ask than not at all. And, this is your first assignment since you graduated. You know what to do within your own remit of skills and knowledge, I can tell," his voice was slightly warmer, but with a tone of paternalistic advice. "A little inexperience and uncertainty can be excused. What you've done so far is perfectly adequate. Is there anything else?"

"Actually, there was something else I wanted to ask about," Amelia tentatively searched his gaze.

"Yes? Go on."

"Well, it would be helpful to know the provenance and background for some items, and the assignment itinerary said that there may be an interest in valuations, and so there were would be background information for each item. I wondered if you have any other information that would be helpful."

"Are there not records of this in the archival files?" His gaze settled on her longer than usual. Helpful in the way of being helpful to her inexperience, but it felt dismissive; like veiled conceit.

"There is, but there doesn't seem to be much documentation for the older items in that respect. I just know ages due to publication dates and acquisition, but no more than that." Actually it was rather vague indeed. "But, it's not unusual for historical items to have scant physical records." She shrugged - a placating body language. "Sometimes, it's mostly verbal communication, so I thought I'd ask, that's all."

"Yes, there are some details I know that might help you," he looked at her, as if taking her measure. "But, if there is not much more information than in the files presented to you, then I'm afraid that's all there is at hand to use. Don't worry too much about this. The basics should suffice, shouldn't they?"

"Yeah. It's enough, but I," she bit her lip and glanced downwards, searching for words, "to be honest, it's more of a personal interest really. It's interesting. Some of these are wonderful examples. A little history to them would add to it," she added coyly.

A very slight upturn of his lips. "Well, I suppose I can grant you that," he sighed. "Most of these old volumes are inherited, like several items in the house. Some are what I have collected myself. Many are… family heirlooms you might say. As you must have assumed by now, given that there are several languages, the multitude of French editions originate from my ancestors in Calais."

It was common knowledge that Sebastian LaCroix was of French extraction. However, the details were not known to her, nor anyone publicly beyond the barest of facts. He had no trace of such an accent, which was to her ears some flavour of mid-atlantic - the type once found amongst early twentieth century American elite, once taught at prestigious prep schools, or heard by many actors of the Hollywood Golden Age.

"Yeah. I thought it would be something like that - given the dates. Some are really beautiful examples of printing and bookbinding and in good condition considering the age. Um, were you born in France, or originate through family?"

"The latter." He said with a simple finality.

"I've never been to France actually," Amelia reflected. "I should visit as there's a lot to interest me."

"You should."

"Have you been recently? I guess you would have more reason than I - since I'd be visiting as a tourist, but you have more connection to it of course."

"Not for a long time," he was almost wistful. "Since I was… quite young."

He must have meant when he was a child. Yet, the tone was almost like he spoke of many more years in the past. She thought him not much older than her as he appeared youthful, not more than mid-twenties. His high position was impressive in that respect given how young he was. But since he seemed to come from wealth, to her that dulled the achievement. It was easier with the right connections; money; pedigree; the best, most exclusive (and expensive) schools. None of which she could lay claim to. It was hard for her not to feel like a bit of a peasant in his presence. But perhaps she felt unjustly resentful due to insecurity. All the same, he was intriguing.

"Well, I suppose there's always time again." Her expression was sunny. "Would you like to?"

"Perhaps. But, not in the near future." He was like a closed book.

"When were you intending to finish, Miss Siddall?" This question seemed abrupt after a passage of silence. Inquiring yet something furtive there.

This "Miss Siddall" again. Will he persist in only ever calling me that? True, this was a professional context. Too much friendliness would be inappropriate, and more so given this arrangement. Although, he was rarely here most of the time. And, her apartment was within the property, but it was self-contained and accessed separately if one so wished. But this formality of address was unusual enough to be noteworthy. Like something out of a novel from another century.

"Oh, now I guess. I had meant to pack up just as you had arrived," she blinked. "Actually, I was not sure what to do since I don't have the keys. Usually, Leticia has come to help me lock everything away in this room, and let me out so I can go to my apartment here. But she hadn't come."

"I told her it wouldn't be necessary, since I would see you." He stood up from his chair to leave, but paused to pass her a set of keys which were for the library and several cabinets there. "Now you can stop for tonight."

"Yes", she glanced around herself. "I'll just put some of this stuff away first." LaCroix looked on at her fussing, then continued to the door.

Her notebooks and an assortment of paperwork arranged somewhat haphazard upon the desk, and she could not resist the need to reorganise them into neat piles. She opened a ring-binder file and packed a wad of papers into it; flipping through the contents to find the right spot. Leafing through, many paper edges brushed the soft flesh of her fingertips, again and again with no consequence. But that paper caress turned to the sharpness of razors with a slice that burned.

"Ow," she recoiled from the singeing pain, and looked at her finger, severed in the skin where the paper had cut her. Red droplets began to form, then became a slow stream.

Blood.

It was surprising how fragile a thing as paper could cut deeply. She kissed it to her lips. Which soothed the pain, though the bleeding lasted surprising long.

She'd been focused on this, and shuddered on finding LaCroix much closer than she had first thought him to be. She turned her head, her eyes locked in his.

"You're bleeding," his voice was soft; more like a statement of observation to himself than really addressed to her. He was still and his gaze fixed. Then, he closed his eyes longer than usual, as if there was effort. This strangeness was brief, and faded. But for that time, it was like a trance of longing. And she found herself fascinated too by this consuming stare.

"What? Oh," her eyes drifted dreamily back to her finger. "It's just a paper cut. It's fine."

His eyes flickered to the blood trailing down her finger. "All the same, you shouldn't leave it like that," he muttered. His closeness at her side, which had been alarming, made her almost forget herself. Her face turned to his watching his expression. His grey eyes were enchanting, they seemed to have a brightness that was other and unlike anyone she'd seen.

"Come now. It's time to go," his voice turned to the stony assertive tone that was more familiar. He strode to the exit without another glance, expecting her to follow. This woke her up from fanciful thoughts.

* * *

Outside the library, they were in the staircase lobby on the second floor. She watched him lock the library door and put the set of keys in an inside pocket of his suit. There was something urgent about him. "I'm going to the drawing-room. Why don't you stay awhile, before you go up."

"Oh, I," she was awkward and was uncertain if she should accept. "That would be nice. But it's a bit late. Don't feel obliged on my account." Her finger was bleeding sometimes, so she was holding it. "Anyway, I'll have to go. I need a plaster, remember?"

"I had not forgotten," his light grey eyes glanced at her fingers, lingering there. There was no bleeding, but a thin red stain was on her skin, and the way he watched reminded her of the fixed stare of a cat. "It's stopped now."

"Yes," she nodded. "But, I don't want to keep you."

A pause. He looked at her measuredly. "It was just a suggestion. You are welcome to stay for a short while if you want to. There's nothing wrong with that," he reassured. "But, if you're sure…"

"Well, it's just um, is that ok?" Warm redness rising on her cheeks. _What if he doesn't mean that at all, and I've made things awkward now?_

"It is if I say it is," he scowled with finality. "I understand your concern. You have nothing to worry about though."

"I didn't think it would. I'm just unsure of what is, well normal." She thought of strange intuition that always lingered around him in her mind. And also the way her bleeding had transfixed him. And then her thoughts drifted to that creepy creature biting and drinking blood in her dream about the very real night she had met Sebastian LaCroix. _What if… Oh_. "Plus, I didn't want to be out late in the first place."

A faint smirk. The shadows of the space fell on him, "you don't like the nighttime then?"

"Oh no. I like it very much. It is the characters that lurk in it I'm wary of." She asserted, dancing on the edge of flirting with him, but the coy glee returned to restrained neutral. She could be funny and bolder when she was on edge. "But, any way, I should go. I need to get up in the morning."

"If you must," he sighed heavily. "You've been alone much of the time here so far, I'd have thought that would be quite isolating. You are welcome down here." He took a step away from her, and his voice cooled, "but, if you prefer not to, you're not under obligation."

"Well," her eyes drifted in thought, and she searched his gaze. In reality, she wasn't opposed to socialising with him, in fact she wanted to. She was wary of him for some reason, and yet drawn like a moth to a flame. But she was conscious that he had the advantage here, and she should not give him more. Her suspicion about him was now half-certain, though she wouldn't have the complete truth of it just yet...

* * *

Author Note: Thank you for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

Author Note: Thanks for the reviews, favourites and story follows.

* * *

Sebastian LaCroix waited in the drawing-room on the second floor. He watched the young woman as she was going down the central staircase, her hand skimming over the handrail. She was going to the lower ground floor for the first-aid box, but it would not be long before she was back again, and he was considering his next actions.

He'd had her here for a few weeks now - just under a month. Things were progressing well; the assignment for which he had employed her was on track for completion on time. It wasn't an important task, but he had accumulated many things, and it would be useful to get them sorted before leaving here, so having someone with a specialisation in this area - rare book collections and archiving - would move it along faster and better. More to the point, he had wanted to observe her. A trial-run before making any long-term investment. He wouldn't give his superior blood until he was sure it would be worthwhile.

This was why he hadn't told her the reality of the situation yet, nor of the truth of what he was. Once that threshold was crossed, there would be more questions. He could tell she was an inquisitive type, which may be useful to him when allied to her research and organisation skills. However, in that same way, it could be dangerous to him as well. Although interested in the limits of her perception and deductive abilities - a test to see how long it would take her to unravel the truth - he didn't want it to get out of hand. He didn't want her poking around too much. Asking too many questions. Enquiring to outside people practised in reading between the lines to discover vampire activity... But he could manage the situation. She wasn't anything.

He could have chosen someone of greater experience and expertise than her, but as the work had required the candidate to come into his home, the fact that she was young and inexperienced was an attraction for him. She'd be naive and trusting; easy to handle.

Yet he was slightly on edge, but not out of apprehension of her. It was not long since he had awakened for the night - just over an hour ago. There was an edge of thirst in him. It had been convenient that she had placed herself here at this time. Usually, she had finished at least an hour before he was awake, and was cooped up in her apartment by the time the night came. But he let her have that privacy. Much as it was a popular trope in those crass vampire fictions, there was no need to pay any nighttime visitations there.

It seemed a long time now since he had first noticed her. His first interest purely to feed, but due to circumstances had not partaken of it then. And had not intended to yet until she'd made more progress with the work. It was never a desperate longing. It wasn't obsessive fixation upon this one individual. Not special. Just one of a selection of others that fit his preference.

Naturally, he was curious though. But he could afford to save her for later. She would be in his vicinity for a few more months, and there was no rush. He could keep her for an emergency, or wait to savour her blood for a suitable occasion.

But he might cut this wait shorter.

Since he had not been awake long, and she was conveniently placed, it was an ideal opportunity to feed. There was no definitive plan to do this after the informal meeting in the library office, but it was in his mind. If he did, he wanted to make this subtle. It would not be hard to coax her into a situation that allowed him… whilst sparing her the knowledge, for now, of what he was doing.

Then she had cut herself accidentally. A bad paper-cut. A surprising amount of blood, but minor. Nothing really. Yet it was a glitch in his plans. His waking thirst made him more sensitive.

Her blood was…

The smell was all around. Almost in the instance that first tiny red drop formed on her delicate skin. The change in him was subtle; there was no dramatic revelation of his vampiric nature. He was accustomed to this after centuries - small cuts and minor bleeding were commonplace - so he didn't fall upon her like a wild animal. But he was struck in attention like stone, stopping instantly at the door. Turning, his gaze fell back upon her. Though it was hardly anything, briefly there was that so familiar struggle in him and he needed to collect himself. She had her finger to her mouth, and for a second the thought came that he'd help her much better with that, but he dismissed it as vulgar.

A different mood then. A sense of closeness palpable between him and the human woman where it had not existed before.

He knew she was perceptive. Just how much had she noticed in his reaction? Not enough to remove all doubt, but it was an interesting experiment to see how much she might take note. However, he did not believe she would correctly interpret it even if she noticed something strange.

She was at least somewhat suspicious of him. He perceived that she sensed something amiss about him, and that was one reason he had chosen her for more than just a one-time feed. Some Kine had something akin to Auspex; it varied in potency and some so imbued were risky. At least, for now, this seemed to manifest in her as curiosity and fascination, rather than hysteria, aggressive suspicion and investigation. Let it remain that way! The truth would have to be revealed to her sooner or later, but not yet.

He waited near the mantle-piece, half shrouded in the shadow, whilst in thought. He heard her steps coming back up the stairs.

* * *

 _The drawing room overlooked the courtyard garden. There was a midnight blue blackness outside the windows. A warm glow from the floor light and table lamps on dimmer mode. A Gobelins tapestry on the wall. The interior was a regency opulence yet somehow cosy. But she had been here before. It was just that now it seemed more striking; glittery with nightfall enchantment._

 _She sat on the sofa, in the style of Louis XV. Almost afraid to sit on it. It was plusher and more comfortable than it appeared. Her eyes felt heavy. Perhaps, she might fall asleep on it. Staring up at the decorative ceiling. The chandelier lights dazzling._

 _Then, LaCroix came into vision. A glimpse of the darkness of the corridor beyond the door. And joined her there..._

 _His fingers moved aside the dark hair strands that had fallen across her face. And turned her face with a gentle coax of his fingers. Her eyes looked into his unsurely. She could feel her stomach flutter. A warmth flushing her._

 _She felt every breath she took as he leaned in. A kiss of his full lips on her cheek; and then softly against her lips._

 _Wanting to be serene and relaxed, but inside was nervous with delight. Her legs pressed together, unconsciously squirming. She gripped his arm and wanting her body close to his._

 _His fingers knit through her thick dark hair, to the base of her head, holding her there. And the other hand slid over the small of her back. His lips brushed her skin; the curve of her jawline, further down…_

 _Her pulse raced; felt like her blood was rushing feverishly. And her chest rose and fell slowly, deeply feeling each breath and desperate for a calmness. The anguish of anticipation. She wet her lips. A little moan. She arched her neck in exposed surrender._

 _And felt it._

 _The soft press of his lips on her neck. Pausing there._

 _She closed her eyes. Waiting. Wondering. Letting it happen._

 _And then…_

* * *

Morning.

The drab light of day glowed through the curtains. It was a dismal late winter morning, and it was raining. The sun almost obscured by grey clouds. It had been another few weeks since last talking to Sebastian LaCroix.

Softness all around. Enveloped in the bed, hugging the duvet like a body pillow.

Amelia jolted awake. She had to stop dreaming like this. _What was that?_ She swallowed. LaCroix was a handsome man, not to mention distinguished by his wealth and success, but the mystery about him added to the appeal most of all. But she pushed that thought away. She shouldn't think of him in that way.

But… unsatisfied. She wished the dream hadn't cut off where it had. Things were just getting interesting.

There was something different happening. What was it she wanted? What was he doing? This thing - a Kiss on her neck from him. It was like...

She got out of bed and went into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror there. She looked at her neck, touching with light fingers where she'd been imagining he had. It felt so real, almost like she could still feel it now… but there was nothing at all. Her skin appeared totally unmarked. _Hmmm, weird._

Sebastian LaCroix possessed an intriguing aura. He had given her a subtle unease the first time she met him. And she thought of that other monstrous being - pale as a corpse - which opened a sharp smile to bite it's victim's neck. A thin stream of blood down her skin...

LaCroix had a similar vibe, although less nefarious. If the truth came to her in dreams before, then perhaps this one was too. But she wasn't sure. She felt he had not told her the whole story and was withholding something significant. She'd had a hunch it was connected to the blood-drinking thing she had seen. Now to be dreaming of LaCroix perhaps doing that to her? Although much more pleasant...

The disturbance of that first memory had died the more she encountered him, but small things about him drew her attention like a vague alarm. She knew something was wrong. Reason would say she should mind her own business, not ask questions and get on with the job, take the money and run. But curiosity made that hard. It was hard to resist the temptation to solve this mystery. These are the facts that troubled her.

LaCroix was professional and hospitable, though he could be demanding. He was genteel, sometimes in a way more akin to that of centuries past than of the present. But he didn't seem old-fashioned or outmoded; he had too much youthful vigour for that to be so. Meanwhile, it was hard not to shake the unease. The more she saw of him, the more her awareness grew of a strangeness about him.

If she only saw him at night, that could be explained. How silent he could be - when he had come into the library, he seemed to have appeared like an apparition and had given her quite a fright. When he had stayed with her for dinner, he didn't eat. She'd never seen him do so… but, to be fair, she wasn't around him constantly, and he probably dined at some other time. And yet…

Something was enchanting in his presence and gaze. His light grey eyes with a glance seemed to wither and penetrate one's soul, even to feel impossible to look away, nor to do other than to please him. And, sometimes, when he looked at her there was something in them which she didn't like. His countenance was remarkable. He was pale, but at certain times the hue of his skin was a deadly pallor without the warmth of life. His hands had little warmth also, although hers were not especially warm either... but given the rest, it might be noteworthy.

Then that subtle change in him when she had bled. How fixed in attention he was. The mood had surged with a difference then. He seemed to know instantly, as he'd come to her without seeing what had happened as if he had a sixth sense.

The thing that came to mind from all this was "vampire" - no matter how absurd it was. So fanciful; the stuff of folklore, fiction and movies. Superstitious ramblings… And yet, it all made sense. A lot of sense. Imbued with a sense of the uncanny and interest in antiquarian and rare books, she had a good knowledge of the history of witchcraft, demonology and folklore belief. There were many ideas about vampires - some zanier than others - and she couldn't be sure what was fact. But many of her observations of LaCroix seemed to fit the bill.

But, if it is true, what can she do? Bide her time, gather evidence and do something about him like some kind of real-life Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Or, just bear it. There were only another two months - could she endure that? The first months' pay might have given her resolve. It was a lot to her; more than she'd ever earned before. The accommodation was provided, and it was a good, mostly independent and relaxed working environment, with the benefit of an impressive addition to her résumé. Maybe, Sebastian LaCroix was not so bad, and she might not have much reason to fear him? And she had had no ties at home to go back to now, anyway. When offered this, it had been too good an opportunity to miss. But she'd had reservations. This dread feeling crept up on her slowly. A confirmation of the doubt she had when offered this position. This latest occurrence - his reaction to her cut, and then her dream of being bitten by him like a vampire, was perhaps the icing on the cake. A dreadful thought - _I hope he is not draining me in secret..._ But she'd need more evidence.

* * *

As Amelia had a few days off, she was going to a course held by the Rare Book School to assist with her work and expertise. But she also thought it an opportune time to look at the collections at Columbia University. She might find something useful to her investigations there.

She had a quick morning shower, and put on a grey knitted dress with long sleeves and fitted waist; paired with black tights and block-heeled ankle boots. The dress was one of her nicer items which she got while at university. In preparation for this job, she'd bought a couple of good quality clothes, just basic staples; nothing extremely expensive. Perhaps with the time off and payment into her bank account, she'd go shopping too. But, considering her concerns regarding LaCroix, thinking about fashion should have been the last thing on her mind.

Leticia, who appeared to be LaCroix's housekeeper, came to her apartment every couple of days, maybe to replace towels, refill things in the kitchenette, change the bedding and general cleaning up. This was like being in a hotel as it was essentially a serviced apartment, but Amelia wondered if Leticia was actually sent to check on her. After all, she did have the job of taking her to and from the library and office, so it was not unbelievable.

Usually, Amelia had breakfast in her own room. However, the kitchen downstairs was apparently not used much, as it seemed like only she and Leticia actually made use of it. She was having breakfast there today in fact, and might get some clues out of Leticia.

"Is Mr LaCroix out today?" Amelia said after eating a piece of scrambled egg on toast.

"I believe so," Leticia answered, somewhat absentmindedly.

"I'd have thought he'd still be sleeping. It is early morning after all," Amelia laughed.

Slightly flustered, "no. He's-he's not here."

"Ok," Amelia brushed it off. "I just have never seen much of him, and when I have, it's at night. In fact, I was starting to wonder if he sleeps in the day," she joked, interested in what reaction it might provoke. Leticia didn't blink for a moment, and Amelia then lightened the mood, "but hey, there's a lot of people like that. Sometimes, I'd rather do that actually. I'm more awake at night."

"Yeah…"

"How long have you worked for him by the way," Amelia said casually, putting down her coffee cup.

"Oh, a few years."

"How do you find it?"

"He is… a good employer. I mean, it's like anything else. Sure, he can be quite demanding, but that's not unusual. I've known worse."

Amelia smiled. "You know, Mercurio told me almost the same thing."

"Yeah. He's reasonable enough pays well, and all that. Mercurio and I don't see much of him anyway, except briefly." Leticia looked up from her own coffee cup. "Actually, he's spoken to you quite a few times and you've been here a while, so must have your own idea of him."

"Well, I find him affable enough. He's been gracious to me when we've spoken. I suppose he is rather exacting, but I don't think unreasonable," Amelia paused the take a sip of water. "The only thing is…"

"Yeah?" Leticia cocked her head, watching her.

"There's something about him. Can't put my finger on it, but it intrigues me. Do you," she looked at Leticia speculatively, "know what I mean? But it's probably nothing," she shook her head.

Leticia looked as if she was thinking about something.

Amelia glanced at her watch, "oh, I have to go soon. I need to be there for 9:30."

"Oh, yes," Leticia woke up from her thoughts, "don't worry about this. I'll sort it," she told Amelia who was about to help clean up. "Our driver will pick you up to take you. I'll let him know."

* * *

Amelia had just finished at the lecture and practical seminar she had been attending most of the day. It was late afternoon, and she went into the collections at Columbia University library as she had some hours to kill, and might as well see what related to her recent experiences with Sebastian LaCroix.

There were many works of fiction in the literature section on vampires, many of which were the usual suspects, but some rarer and less well-known too. Related to those, were several critical academic work, print copies of journal articles, microfilms. But, what she was looking for was work on real experiences and phenomena, such as folklore and demonology. There were Montague Summers' extensive but rather eccentric 1920s tomes on vampires (and werewolves and witches). These Amelia had read before - the book she had taken out at Pratt Institute Library had been one of his. Summers was well known in both academic history and literary studies as his research was detailed. But, his genuine belief in vampires made him something of a curious and charming oddity, despite his scholarly learning. He was responsible for the first English translation of the infamous _Malleus Maleficarum_ , and in his preface seemed to believe in witches and the method of dealing with them. In his opinion, "in all the darkest pages in the malign supernatural, there is no more terrible tradition than that of a vampire - a pariah even among demons."

There were some 17th and 18th-century treatise extracts, detailing with strange grave phenomena, such as corpses in good condition with blood about the mouths. Demonology work suggested that demons could possess the bodies of the dead and do their work through them. The most detailed was a 1751 treatise by the French theologian Dom Augustine Calmet, which had much research and judicial reports. However, others suggested doubts about their existence. Pope Benedict XIV opined that all the phenomena attributed to vampires were 'natural or the fruit of imagination, terror and fear'. Likewise, Empress Maria Theresa of Austria passed laws prohibiting the opening of graves and desecration of bodies to end the mid-1700s vampire panic, following investigations which concluded that vampires did not exist. After this it seemed the vampire became an artistic and literary motif, seldom believed reality to be feared. A result of Enlightenment rationalism. Disenchantment - a decline of religion and belief in the supernatural.

Most of the folklore vampire stories related to beliefs in remote villages, with peasants and probable misunderstandings of contagion and the process of decomposition, as suggested in Paul Barber's _Vampires, Burial and Death: Folklore and Reality_. There was nothing resembling anything like Sebastian LaCroix. Only fictional portrayals of vampires as fascinating but malevolent noblemen came close, and Amelia did feel that she had stumbled into a gothic novel.. but that was silly. Not to mention there were so many variations in signs of vampires, and many of them were utterly absurd. Methods of repelling them varied too, some quite amusing, but others very disturbing. Staking was an ancient burial practice intended to pin down corpses to prevent them from rising, and observed in many archeological digs; not just associated with vampire lore. That wouldn't work alone - decapitation and burning were the surest ways... But this was all very ghoulish.

So, she was inclined to give up on this research. She closed the book with a sigh and put it on a pile with the rest.

As she was clearing up, she glanced up for a moment. For a split second, a dark figure, probably a man, was watching her from around the corner of a large bookshelf. When she looked again, there was nothing there. Perhaps a trick of the light. But it was a little disconcerting. She looked at the time - 5:30pm. And still daylight.

Since her mind was on edge with a suspicion that her employer Sebastian LaCroix might be a vampire, it was not too much of a stretch for her to worry about him discovering her little research excursion. But, if her suspicion was true, he may not even be awake yet, and perhaps couldn't be out in the day.

Still, she felt uneasy and would go soon. She was feeling slightly ill, faint. But then she'd be back at his house again, so maybe would stay out for as long as possible. Yet Sebastian LaCroix hadn't done anything bad to her, had he? She seemed perfectly safe, comfortable and well provided for. Perhaps there was nothing to fear. It might all be in her head, like Henry James' novella _The Turn of the Screw_ , in which the 'strange and sinister were embroidered amongst the normal and easy'; there was uncertainty where reality ended and delusion began; whether its gothic heroine was going mad, or possessed of keen perception to the supernatural.

Packing up, she pushed a book back into place on a shelf.

"That is rather morbid reading for a young lady," a voice behind her, looking over her desk. A man, perhaps in his forties, he had a grave face and seemed as if he'd suffered hardship; seen disturbing things. In the dim light, it was hard to see, but it looked like his face was scarred. He wore what looked like a leather trench-coat, rather martial. He too was looking at this section of books. "What makes you read those?"

"Oh, no reason really," she clutched her notebook closer to her chest. "It is an interesting subject."

"Certainly," he said gravely. He was not American. There was a hint of a German accent to the way he spoke English. "But it is not typical you know."

"Well, I've always had a feeling for strange things," she said cautiously.

"As do I," he said mysteriously, "But, take care. Curiosity opens doors for darkness to work upon the unaware."

"Um… ok," she looked confused and weirded out. "I was just reading. That's all."

"Are you sure?" The man eyed her as if looking for a sign; a symptom of something.

This made her uneasy. Most people took reading these subjects as just eccentricity, but he took it seriously. To lighten the mood she giggled, "oh, you don't believe in all this, do you? It's just folklore, myths, unscientific beliefs."

"So they say," His tone became irritated. "But there is wisdom in this old knowledge, unfashionable as it is in this Godless age." His accent seemed to come out stronger than. "You should take my words more seriously, young lady. There are things more real than you know. These fiends," he was indignant, but lowered his voice, "Something vexes you. Tell me -"

"No-no, I'm fine," she backed away. _Is this guy something to do with LaCroix? Or, some kind of Van Helsing wannabe? Whoever he is, I can't talk about what I suspect to anyone. What if all this is a misunderstanding and LaCroix is not a vampire at all? That's still possible, and so I can't indulge crazies like this._

"Are you sure? If you are scared of speaking openly it is inappropriate here, yes. But you are not the only person to perceive strange unexplainable things," he said in a hushed but insistent tone, and he looked around furtively to see that no one observed. "If it is not too late… If you need help-"

"I'm ok." Amelia picked up her bag off the desk. Ready to leave. This man was very strange. Possibly a fanatic. But it freaked her out that someone believed vampires were to be taken seriously. And deep down knew that he spoke the truth. "But, um, thanks."

"May God protect you then." He wrote something on a scrap of paper and placed something within it. "Take this, should you change your mind."

She took the paper and pushed it into her bag. Then continued walking head down at a swift pace. Glancing behind her, she could see the man standing where she had left him but soon he was gone.

The chauffeured car was waiting for her nearby. Before getting in, Amelia looked round subtly but pensively as she worried if he was following her. But there was no sign of him. She got into the car and put on the seatbelt.

"How was your day?" the driver asked her. When he dropped her off this morning, she had been excited and talked to him about it on the way. Now, her mind was on other things.

"Oh, yeah, it was good. Interesting. But I'm kind of tired now, actually."

"It's been a long day."

"Yes, it has," Amelia looked out of the darkened windows, at the rain hitting the sidewalk. What if that weird man was spying on her? She didn't trust enough to divulge her fears, even to someone that might believe it while most would laugh. She opened the folded paper he had given her, expecting a phone number or address, but it wasn't either. Just the name of bookstore, which she had heard of, but never visited. It was an occult bookstore; quite obscure and difficult to find. Maybe it was a front for something. Perhaps, this was a breadcrumb trail. She'd have to figure it out.

Soon, she'd be back again in the house of Sebastian LaCroix. The night was soon approaching. She felt she had not learned much that could provide a conclusive answer, nor help her in escaping the situation if it was truly as she feared. Yet, still, she was not definitively sure about LaCroix, because she clung to the idea that there had to be evidence and hard facts. Even though her intuition gave her a deep feeling of certainty that he was not exactly human and not quite alive.

* * *

Author Note: Chapter 6 is on the way soon. The material for chapter 5 and 6 reached 10,000 words, so i've split it up into two chapters. Will be quite dramatic, so stayed tuned :)


	6. Chapter 6 - A Revelation

**Author Note** : Here's the dramatic chapter I promised. A little scary. Hope you like it :)

* * *

When Amelia was dropped off by the chauffeur and let through the security gate, she went straight up to her apartment in the elevator. By this time it has grown dark, but she saw nothing of Sebastian LaCroix. 

Had she gotten any closer to knowing about vampires? Or, of making sense of LaCroix? No. Not really. No more than what she had researched when it was only a hypothetical, academic interest before all this. But, despite the lack of hard evidence she was quite sure now, even if it was mostly intuition.

She dropped her handbag on the table and rolled the work bag over the carpet floor. Sighed, dropping on the sofa. What to do? She pulled out the note the strange man had given her. Something slid out onto the coffee table as she unfolded the paper. A rosary. Not a surprise considering the impression the man had given her. Holding it up, letting it hang from her fingers, the light shone on the beads; glinted on the crucifix figure. Would that work, or was it the faith behind it that carried power rather than the object itself? But Amelia could not say that she had faith in it, though she was not a stranger to considering it. In doubt perhaps. She had attended an Anglican church primary school when young. Her father had, at times, shown subtle hints of a turn to supernatural belief after the loss of her mother… She gathered the rosary into her palm and could feel the tears form. It had been just over half a decade since then, but the thought was still raw, and she didn't want to linger on it now.

As for the note, there was just the name of an obscure bookshop. No address. No number. No name even. How secretive. And when would she have time to go there? Possibly while she had some time off, but most of it would be occupied. No time then. What if it would help though? It was easy on the mind to dismiss that man as crazy - probably a religious fanatic. Yet he was sincere. Full of fervour and conviction. Perhaps he had some grievances - there had to be something personal to make someone take that conviction so strongly to heart. What if he had tracked her here, and could save her?

But, it might still all be nonsense. She might just have an overactive imagination and didn't need saving. Sebastian LaCroix was innocent, perhaps. Yet she had thought about this problem for a long time now, and had deliberated on it for what seemed like forever. But seriously entertaining vampires as a real possibility was not the default conclusion, was it? No. Even if someone noticed something "off" about another, "he must be a vampire!" was unlikely to be thought, except as a joke. So, she could not be thought silly or slow for not accepting this idea as fact.

Another sigh. She re-folded the paper again. The rosary she left out on the table. She could think about all this later, and switched on the TV and found an old episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. An amusing coincidence considering present circumstances. But, she had watched every season since it first aired, so why not now?

* * *

For a few hours, Amelia slept. It was late - after midnight. 

A low sound of a door shutting. The mild reverberation through the walls. The sound of a limousine pulling away. Maybe, it was just ambience or imagination. Even, just dreaming. And she was familiar with strange dreams.

Reaching a pale hand to switch on the bedside table lamp, a warm light illuminated a small radius beneath the lampshade. The rest remained in darkness. Sitting up, she looked at the clock. It was still no time to wake yet, but she might as well stay up, and then go back to sleep. Slipping out of bed from the warmth into coolness, she'd need her dressing gown.

It was probably nothing. Old houses made weird noises. She went to the window and pushed open the curtains slightly. From here, it was tricky to see down, and she had to stand close against the window. She thought she'd dreamt that LaCroix had gone out. A premonition, maybe? She couldn't see much though, the porch and front garden seemed deserted, and there was nothing on the street beyond the tall gates. Up the road, a dark shape of a limousine driving sleekly up the road, illuminated in the night by the glow of street lamps. It looked similar to one that LaCroix owned.

A sigh of relief. He never invaded her privacy here, but given her fears, the thought that he was not here was a reassuring one. It also meant that what Leticia had said in answer to her question of why he wasn't seen in the day - that LaCroix wasn't there because he was out - may have been lies. Amelia couldn't be sure if vampires could be out in the day - there was some confusion over this like much of the mythos about these supernatural creatures. If it was true, perhaps he had woken up, and gone out from the house now, not earlier. But again, this was just speculation. And it had been the night for a while.

She had tried exploring the house earlier this week in the daytime while she was working. Almost all the doors were locked, or so they had led her to believe - she hadn't checked the veracity of this. Also, Leticia or others were around, even though she seemed to be alone much of the time. It was a silly idea to try exploring the house for answers at night - the worst time if LaCroix was as she suspected. It would be a few hours until dawn. But she needed to know. And if he was out...

There might not be a better chance than now.

Usually, she did not go into the main house, except on two occasions she had spoken with LaCroix, invited or otherwise. And at other times when she was invited to dinner, although he was always absent. But she decided to go out this time. It was a few hours before morning, but this might be the quietest time she got.

Amelia went to the wardrobe and pulled out a small suitcase she had on the shelf. Inside, was a little black bag, which she had become more conscious of hiding the longer she was here. Her father was quite keen on security, since that was the sector in which he had worked, and had taught her bits of survival and self-defence stuff. The bag was essentially a survival kit, with the usual items, first aid, flashlight, wire saw, etc. Not items needed in a city. There was a swiss army knife and a lockpick, which might be useful. Deliberating over the tactical pen which could operate as a letter opener - or a self-defence knife - she took it anyway just in case, although it wasn't much.

The townhouse had three apartments within it. The principal of which LaCroix lived at. It was the largest, covering most of the floors and the grandest. Then, there was a small apartment on the garden level floor and hers in the attic - which was surprising as, although most of her windows were skylights, the window in her living area had good views. Although the original layouts of such old residential buildings often had servants' quarters in the attic, for modern tastes this floor would have been part of the principal apartment, not hers. But so it was. They didn't seem to be rented either, which was surprising. Being in Manhattan, they could get hundreds of dollars per night just for short-term rentals. And LaCroix was no doubt shrewd with money. He would not miss the chance to take advantage of the opportunity unless there was a good reason. Probably security and secrecy.

To get into the main residence, she had to go down to the lower ground floor. She wouldn't be able to explore everything. Some rooms were too secure. But she could try at least.

At the stairs, her hand glided over the rail in a featherlight touch. Descending around and around with each turn of the flights of stairs. When she got down to the lower ground floor, she met some locked doors, but for one at the end of the corridor. There, she found the kitchen again. She had half expected it to be an untouched artefact of the early 1900s, but just as soon as this idea had drifted into her mind, she was not sure why she had thought it. Mercurio had shown this room to her when she had first arrived and she had been in it only this morning, so she knew what it was like. The longer she had been here, the more she wished that Mercurio had stuck around rather than go to Los Angeles.

The kitchen was quiet. She opened the fridge and, as usual, found it not well stocked. It was dark outside, and she could see her reflection in the windows framing the inky blackness beyond. She tapped her fingernails on the worktop. Where to next?

The other rooms were just for storage, except for the entrance to the other apartment on this floor, which she didn't see a reason to check. There was the basement though. It was always off limits as were all the rooms in the day, but she wondered if she might have more luck at night. LaCroix himself had a set of keys for everything in the house, but there was no way she could get them from him.

The door of the basement was secure. It was locked. Amelia bit her lip, deciding then to try with the lockpick. Her dad had shown her how to use it; she wasn't particularly good but had managed basic locks - practice ones. After tinkering with it for a few minutes, she managed to get it open.

Going down the dark set of stairs - she didn't want to turn on the lights, instead just used her flashlight. As on the floor above, there were several doors, most of them led to mundane places - service rooms, laundry etc. Nothing exciting or unusual.

A security door - not dissimilar to a bank safe door. She was curious to find out what lay beyond it, but she didn't have a key and it was too secure to lockpick open. Attempting the lock, it was too difficult. Hmm, she folded the lock-pick up. The thought lingered that she might find a definitive answer, much like Jonathan Harker did in Dracula, finding there a crypt like room. Maybe a coffin, empty because it was night! At the least, she had felt like she was in a modern, real version of that novel. But she didn't want to go there, scared of what she might find. And didn't want confirmation of the queasy feeling that he was not alive but dead, or rather living dead. She doubted that he slept down here, anyway. And she couldn't see him sleeping in a coffin. But, she didn't know. And only had human fiction and lore to go on.

The wine cellar appeared normal, but there was in fact little of it here. There was a strongroom - possibly a refrigeration room, which she could see was set to 4 degrees Celsius. Again this may not be unusual, but she wondered what was inside. It was the temperature to keep blood… But it too was locked.

Taking a deep breath, she retraced her steps. The basement door was closed but unlocked as she had left it, to her relief. She did not want to get stuck down here. She peeked through a crack in the door, and slowly opened it, looking around to find it still deserted and went out.

She could have gone to the front door and let herself out there. But it was freezing outside, and she had nothing with her. And even if she opened that door, the security gate lay beyond it, and that she didn't have access to open.

Back up the stairs, the door into the first floor was shut, but surprisingly unlocked. Back out into the entrance hall and staircase atrium - where she had waited when she first arrived here. Her first glimpse of the opulence here, and perhaps the sinister feel beneath. And everything here was much as it had been on that first night and had been whenever she had seen it while being here. The dining room was empty, filled only with the luxury of its interior and furnishings. The other rooms were much the same.

The big entrance doors were locked, quite impenetrable to anyone trying to get in, or anyone trying to get out.

* * *

She crept up the stairs, fingertips resting lightly on the rail. Listening for signs of activity, but heard nothing. In the skylight above the staircase, the night was black and murky with clouds.

This floor was familiar, since she mostly worked here. The library door was open too. She slipped in cautiously, and went to the next. Her journal notebook was there, where she had left it. On the desk were still some of the items she was working on. The late eighteenth and early 19th century French volumes. LaCroix had told her they were inherited and since he was French descent and likely of an affluent linage, that was not unbelievable. But, if her suspicion was true, maybe that was not quite accurate. But... could he be that old? Was that possible? Was not the idea of the Undead being so long lived the stuff of fiction, and the oldest echelons of mythology? It was true that his manner sometimes appeared reminiscent of another century, but it was hard to comprehend such a vast swathe of time. So much history; so much change. It was too dizzinging to think of now. She had sat too long going over some of the items here again.

Back into the lobby hallway, and as usual the house appeared silent. Satisfied that there was no one else there, she tried the other doors. Mostly locked again, or had nothing of interest within them.

Which floor next? She went up the stairs, never having been up to these floors, since she had no reason to; her apartment wasn't accessible this way. It did not surprise her that most rooms were locked given that they probably housed valuable items, and she was effectively a stranger; alone a lot of the time. However, she thought there was much more to this than normal security concern.

Amelia wandered down one of the corridors, this one lit by some wall-lights, but dimly. She turned off her flashlight. Mirrors on the walls. She went down slowly; cautiously, clinging to the wall. Since the higher floors were more private she felt more awkward in creeping around up here. And more on edge. Her movements slowed. Yet, she wanted some answers.

Going down the corridor, her heart-rate had increased; her hand shook when reaching for the door-knob of a room she presumed to be a bedroom.

Locked.

Hmmm. that wasn't a surprise. And she did start to feel a little guilty. What am I doing? LaCroix is trusting me, and gave me this opportunity in spite of me not having a lot of experience. This is how I react? But, I know there's something not right here…

But with this, she felt a little bolder, and went down to some of the others. She felt one of the door handles turn and give; yield where others had not. Her breathing heavy.

But it was just a closet. Nothing of interest there.

She continued further, noticing that one doorway was open slightly ajar. Her pace slowed to almost nothing. But on reaching it she could see in slightly.

The room was dark, without much light, perhaps only one solitary lamp was on, but not very bright. This darkness made it hard to see - just shadows and dark shapes in the gloom.

Something passing then, lit by the dim chink of light from the corridor. Recognisable form. A fleeting glimpse of Sebastian LaCroix from the back.

Shit. She withdrew quickly, backed up against the wall. Hand covering her mouth. I thought he was out.

Her eyes drifted forward, meeting the mirror, in which the reflection collected the interior within. This view was obscured; hard to distinguish through the shadows.

He seemed to be seated, leant over something outside her vision. What was he doing?

She wondered if… no.

A glint of something in the light. A glimpse of fangs?

What she thought she might be seeing - like the other thing that had been the start of all this? He seemed absorbed in this, and she wasn't sure if he would notice her, perhaps less cautious due to the privacy.

But LaCroix's grey eyes, weirdly incandescent in the dark, glanced up, furtively watchful of his surroundings, and met the mirror and it seemed her. She wasn't sure if he could actually see her. What if he could? What if he didn't need to see her - just sensed her there?

Oh fuck. She dithered, panicked, but couldn't possibly make it back to her room without being seen. Breathing faster, heavier, she tried to calm down and to keep quiet. Slowly trying to move away. A sweat of fear rushing over her. A cold, clammy shock flushing horribly through her nerves and veins. Heart-skipping a beat.

Creeping across the hallway as quick as she dared, and found a sideroom open, went in and shut the door. It turned out to be a wet-bar to serve the rooms up here. A room room to prepare and store drinks - possibly not your average drinks though.

She backed into the room, her hand gliding over the quartz worktop. Something in the way. There was a wine glass, on the side. And she almost knocked it over. She lunged to catch it before it hit the worktop and shattered. She had saved it. Luckily, it was not full.

But contents splashed on the side. Red, a thin residue which one might assume was wine in this dim lighting as she couldn't see well. It didn't smell like wine though... Peering down at the glass, it didn't flow quite like water or wine. Something very different in the texture - thicker.

It looked like…

Oh no.

Her hand was shaky as an anxious feeling crept over her skin. It looked like blood in the glass. Subconsciously, she touched her neck, right where she'd dreamed LaCroix had -

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes looked from the glass to her translucent reflection in the cabinet glass. Seeing him possibly feed as a vampire, and this glass of blood now. All the little things about him that had struck her as odd. The subtle mood change when she cut herself and bled. Her dream of him doing something involving a Kiss on her neck. The uneasy vibe she sensed in his presence the very first time she met him. The horror of the other creature, no doubt in her mind now a foul, living dead thing too. All rushed through her mind in sudden epiphany. It was hard to catch her breath from the dizziness. Feeling faint, she gripped the worktop for support. Perhaps Sebastian LaCroix was just one of those hardcore "vampyre lifestyle" people. She hoped. This thought was just to make her feel better. The alternative was… disturbing.

Almost frozen in motion, she was still holding the wine glass. Sebastian LaCroix was either a very disturbed and dangerous human, or he was a vampire. A creature of the night! Had he been secretly sucking her blood? Oh, Jesus… This job was too good to be true - it was just a ruse to let him have her around! Either way, she had to go. Right now. And jump on a plane for the first flight back home. Even though she was still in her nightdress.

She couldn't hear anything, but it was the dead of night. A couple of hours before dawn. He was here. Had he sensed her presence? The glass of blood could not have been here long, as it wouldn't keep well. Which meant that...

She heard a familiar pleasing to the ear, but now sinister, voice.

"What are you doing here at this time of night, Miss Siddall?"

Amelia put the wine-glass down, harder than intended. It smacked on the worktop, glass on quartz. And looked around nervously. Her voice was shaky, "I-I was, um, looking for something."

"Really... " He looked around the room. Of course, she had no reason to be there. "I thought you would wait until morning."

Heart skipping a beat; not fully understand what he meant by this she gave him a puzzled look, but she had a sinking feeling. "Well I… just woke up. So I thought I'd go for a walk."

"Hmm."

She knew he was sceptical. She looked around; considering her options. Edging away. "I might say the same. How come you're up now? Um, have you been out?" She wondered what he had been doing - hunting someone to bite; drinking their blood - killing them?

"Yes. But I expect you are not surprised by that," he said with a knowing look; his eyes drifting over to the wine glass and hers followed to it, then quickly looked away.

"Erm, I guess not," she feigned ignorance.

"No doubt, you have noticed that I seem only to be present at night."

"Um, yes. It seems that way.'' She shrugged, Perhaps I said too much to Leticia… "But I don't see you all the time, so I can't say." she played dumb, but he knew that she knew. Her eyes drifted to the door. "Well, anyway I should probably go now."

"Stay here," he countered, taking a step closer to her. "What do you see amiss here?" he said, obviously referring to the glass of blood.

"Nothing."

"Are you quite sure about that, Miss Siddall? I find that hard to believe."

Silence. She caught a breath. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, but you do," he said approaching her.

"No. I was just… just leaving." She attempted to run past him, bolting out of the doorway, but wasn't sure where she was going. Perhaps, if she could at least reach the elevator or even a room she could lock herself into, she could be safe. And maybe try to stay locked in until the sun came. It was only a couple of hours! Then this vampire would have to retire to where he rested in the day. But what then? He wasn't alone. There were those who helped him, and the daytime wasn't a problem for them.

All through her was a bolt of adrenaline, feeling like it was life or death. And she could feel that she was pursued; feel LaCroix hardly a pace behind her.

Reaching a door, she clung to it and tried the handle desperately, but couldn't get it to open fast enough which made her panic more.

In fact she had only managed a few metres away from where she had started. LaCroix was faster than her and easily caught her. She felt his cold hand grasp her arm; turning her around and she tried to wrestle herself out though it was of little effect. Scratching him which drew the slightest trace of blood. Whirling around, she cut him with letter-opener.

There was a wrathful look in his eyes. Red lines of her fingernails on his white skin where she'd scratched him. An uneasy silence. Her eyes widened with how easily the wound healed. And not a trace of bleeding, like his veins were void of blood. What on earth!? She gasped; shaking with realisation that he could not be maimed, or at least it would be difficult to do so.

LaCroix eyed the girl carefully. His hands gripped her arms tight, as she had backed up against the door. It was little effort to him, and it seemed like nothing but when she struggled found this deceptively light grip to be vice-like. And there was nowhere to go in the smallness of this hallway. Only herself and LaCroix, who blocked her path. The opposite way only the door against her back, and that was locked. In the gloomy light of moonlight through the window, his face was ashen white. The cold light and the shadow made the angles of his face sinister.

"I knew you would come looking for answers to your suspicions tonight. But you've been foolish. You must think yourself quite clever with your little investigations," he scoffed. "What you have seen was by design. I left that glass for you to find."

"What?" What he was saying washed over her. But what about?

"Even so, I don't take well to spies," he snarled with bared fangs in words like ice; the angered scowl of his brow and fierce grey eyes that pierced down into her soul. The attractiveness of him turned to livid, living dead horror. The masquerade of humanity and life had slipped. He was not unlike the monster she had seen, only now it was obvious. Yet that sense of composure remained. His voice was not raised, but this coolness was much more dreadful than common anger could have been.

"I didn't -" She turned her face from him, her body posture was closed and felt shaky with a cold fear all over.

"Look at me!" His voice was whispered icy venom. His hands gripped her arms, with fingers digging into skin. The sharpness of his nails were still there, not yet simmered down. His eyes blazed. There was a frayed tone to his voice, as if he was frantic; agitated, though he pushed down this feeling quickly. He did not wish to let her see it.

Her eyes met his again then as he desired. Wide green eyes wet with fear. The girl was breathing heavily - he saw the heavy rise and fall of her chest - the sound of nervous gasps. The pace of her heart thumped fast. He could listen to, almost feel in fact, the pulse of blood through her arteries and veins.

Perhaps she saw that flicker of interest in his eyes as they glanced for a moment at her neck, seeing the greenish hue of veins in her milk white skin. "Please don't," she spoke in a small, strangled tone.

"You're not really in a position to deny me," he told her, almost softly, which chilled her to the bone. He pushed back that interest, and didn't do anything to her, in fact he actually loosened his grip.

She watched him warily as he calmed down. That sudden flash of ashen white flesh, sharp fangs, clawing fingernails and white-hot grey gaze, simmering down again to his usual handsome and collected, refined manner. It was hard to reconcile these aspects.

There was still an edge to him; a frustration. The scratch she had given him had gone completely. He perceived that she was looking for it, "you can't harm me."

She just nodded.

"Let's try again then," he was almost polite again and this was disconcerting due to the contrast with the earlier fury. "What was in the glass?"

"Blood..." she began absentmindedly, wanting to forget.

"And, do you know why that would be, Miss Siddall?" he said very softly, but like a blade clothed in silk. She didn't answer at first. "Why?"

"Because you drink it!" she cried. "You're a vampire."

"Yes. Have you suspected this for a long time?"

"No," she answered quickly. Has he seriously just admitted to being a vampire? "I-I always thought there was something strange. I was only curious. There was something about you. I just…"

''Curiosity is what gets people killed.'' His dominating gaze bore into her interrogatively. "Why did you go against my instructions?"

"I didn't -"

"Don't lie. Who sent you?" A hint of worry.

"What? No one!" she didn't know what he was talking about.

His eyes narrowed. She had been seen talking briefly with one of the associates of Grünfeld Bach, although it seemed he had engaged her due to the material she was looking at. LaCroix was unsure what she had said, and worried if she had said anything that might alert Bach, which was most undesirable. He had not thought she was involved in anything like that, but perhaps that could have been an oversight. The Imbued, as they called themselves, were like her - perceptive to the supernatural - but he wanted to get her before others did. He had meant this revelation to be controlled, and not such a shock to her, but this was how it had turned out. More softly, "look at me, show me your eyes, and tell me. I want to see that you are not lying."

"I was only…" she bit her lip. Her hands wrangled together in anxiety. "I guess I'm too curious for my own good… there were just things about you that intrigued me, and then made me suspicious. I always felt that way since I first met you. And then, when I was at the library, I thought I'd find something to read - there's sure to be something obscure there. But I didn't really… apart from that weird guy who started talking to me, and I was scared of saying anything."

"Why?"

"Because I thought he might have something to do with you. Maybe spying on me, or something." she looked into his eyes, innocently. "He wasn't?"

"No." LaCroix didn't probe deeper, not wanting to alert her to the significance of Bach and his associates. She was afraid and likely to think nothing of seeking their "help", so he wanted to question her in a less direct way.

"I never meant any harm to you. I just -"

"When people know too much, there is much harm," he stated. "But, I'm inclined to believe you. There's too much sincerity in your manner. You would make a poor liar," he smirked.

He moved away from her, and she was glad of the breathing space. He paced around her though, as if deciding what he would do with her, like a cat playing with a mouse. "I've known too many that have tried to hunt me, and so know that you are nothing but a naive girl. Since you arrived here - since we first met in fact - I've been aware of your suspicions prior to this night. I had hoped that they would remain just that - unproven, wild suspicions. But, I knew that you would insist on pressing forward. And now you know all this, I am afraid I really cannot allow you to wander about freely anymore. Innocuous though your motives may be, such knowledge is always a threat and must be dealt with accordingly."

"If you're going to kill me, please do it quickly," she looked him in the eye. "If there's any mercy in you, do that at least."

"That may not be necessary," he replied dismissively; an imperious wave of the hand. "But I admire your courage," his eyes remained penetrative as they peered into hers, trying to find some revelation of her as a person. "You have already proven more… resistant than most. And, more inquisitive, I might add."

His eyes slid away for a moment as if in thought. He looked down at her as he tilted his face upward in haughty posture and an exasperated sigh, it seemed almost exaggerated for effect. "I suppose I could spare your life, since you may prove useful to me."

Amelia did not know if she liked the sound of that idea. Serving a vampire, was not a very hopeful prospect. Her lips parted, but she couldn't form a sentence since she remained on edge. "What do you mean by 'useful'?"

He could see her anxiety. What did she imagine he intended to do with her? It made him smile to think of her quaint assumption. "I will explain, but not here. You will come with me."

He moved away from her then, giving her the space to feel safer. He could see that being too overbearing would be counter intuitive to cultivating her good feeling towards him. He expected her to follow him, but she remained against the door; her posture still stiff and closed, like a rabbit in the sight of a predator. She regarded his offering with fear. He stared at her expectantly but bemused. His head tilted slightly in thought again, as he considered that more compassion might work better. His voice softened and the cold facade slipped for a moment into something more humane. "I won't hurt you," he said with the faintest hint of real sincerity.

"That's not really a promise I should accept from a vampire," she replied softly, her large eyes gazed at him unsurely. But her posture had begun to ease and she faced him more openly now.

"No. I can see why you think that," he parried without hesitation or pause. "But, be that as it may, you will have to take my word you won't come to harm. Come with me."

Amelia didn't say anything, unsure what to say and stood still for a moment, but started to approach him.

He his hand closed around her arm - really only resting there, but it was a firm guidance as he steered her across the floor. She still felt faint and in some way it was helpful. In fact, she had a little Déjà Vu to when she had first encountered him as he had helped her. Only then, the fright she'd had was not from him, whereas now it was.

She had been too shaken to notice before, but being in close proximity to him, the weight and embrace of his arm around her waist, drawing her against his body, she could feel that he was cold. Not glacial, but noticeably cooler than her, and she flinched at first. His hand had all the warmth as that of a dead man's. And he was still. No draws of breath; the rise and fall. Nothing. His animation and yet lifelessness was disturbing. "Where are we going?" she asked him nervously.

"One of the drawing rooms," his voice was soft, as affable as she had found him to be before this revelation.


	7. Chapter 7 - An Explanation

**Author Note** : Thanks for reading :) Enjoy.

* * *

LaCroix steered Amelia back down the hallway and into another room. She followed his direction stiffly; distrustful for obvious reasons. She felt underdressed as well; wearing her nightdress and dressing gown. Neither were indecent or inappropriately suggestive, and showed barely a hint of skin. But even so, this was not exactly how she intended to appear, and really it had been stupid to explore just wearing this.

This was a room she had never been inside before, another drawing room but smaller than the other she had been in. As it would be morning in an hour, the windows had blackout blinds and shutters which blotted out all daylight once they were down. He led her to the sofa which she sat on gingerly; still shaky, numb with shock and still wary.

"Drink this," he offered her a glass of something, which she looked at suspiciously and pushed it away at first. "It's just Cognac, Miss Siddall. I insist you've had quite a shock. It will soothe your nerves."

She stared at him. Debating within herself whether to voice her incredulity at this offering, because she was still nervous of him. Knowing now that he was a vampire, she couldn't be sure of the risk of antagonising him. "You can't be serious? A shock? If I'm shocked then it's because of you. Now you're pretending as if everything is normal. And then -"

"Don't test me. I don't have time to give you a detailed explanation. So, a summary shall suffice," he chastised her wearily, putting the glass in her hand. "This could have been much gentler, had you behaved yourself. You do not realise, but I'm treating you with more generosity than I ought."

"Had I behaved myself?" she raised her eyebrows. Letting a hint of defiance through her wariness. "All this strangeness about me here - how could I not want to find out the truth? You cannot blame me for curiosity," she said warily; holding on to the glass in both hands to keep them from fidgeting.

"Perhaps not, but as I told you, curiosity is a dangerous thing. Most people in your position would have ignored whatever they noticed. And most would have noticed nothing, anyway." LaCroix sat on the chair next to her, "but not you. You are more perceptive than most."

"So," she fiddled with the glass, "if you knew that, why this subterfuge? Why not be honest? Why draw it out?" Amelia wondered about the first time she met him - what she had seen - but thought it may not be the time to ask about that yet.

"Do you really think telling you such a thing would be useful? And could you have honestly believed it?" he seemed to pause for effect. "Your observational ability was noted. And, considering what you saw when we first encountered each other, I thought it necessary to monitor you. If someone, anyone, comes into the knowledge of our presence in your midst, it threatens the very fabric of our existence. So, I could not bring you into such knowledge at the outset, without first assessing you. Which, apart from this transgression, you had met the requirements successfully."

Amelia stared at him wide-eyed, "assessing me?" _What's this - the craziest job interview ever?_ She felt her stomach turn with anxiousness. Her hands were shaky."Did you want to see how long it would take me to notice? Like a test? Well, I guess I've passed. Frightening me to death like this must be all very amusing for you, I'm sure. I hope it was a good laugh."

"No. Such a frivolous aim would not be my concern." LaCroix looked at her, then with a downward glance of the eyes, as if in thought. "In hindsight, it could have been more subtly done. Part of the intention of engaging you with this assignment was to observe how much you could deduce. However, you were not meant to find out as you have tonight. Your recent actions made it necessary to engineer it. Tell me, you spoke to someone while at the Columbia University Library today. What did he say?"

Her brows furrowed. Confused and slightly defensive. "He spoke to me. I didn't start talking to him. I told you he was… strange."

"But what of these?" LaCroix asked, taking something out and laid them on the table. The rosary and piece of paper. A bolt of shock rushed through her.

"How did you?" _When had he had time to get those from her room?_ And she noted how he could touch the rosary with no negative effect on him. "I-I didn't say anything to him. I didn't tell him anything."

"I already know that you didn't." She had adhered to the NDA she had been required to sign at the start of the employment contract. "But, that does not mean there is no harm done. Talking to such an individual, no matter if you do not admit to anything, could be a risk. Your suspicions had become too much potential liability. And so, though not my original intention, you had to find out like this tonight."

"So," Amelia decided to take a sip of the Cognac. It was good. Smooth and rich; a warmth that built. _Mmm, that's really good. I dread to think how much that cost. But why would a vampire even want that?_ she thought then refocused herself. "When _were_ you planning on telling me then?"

"When it was the correct time."

 _Well, that's not really an answer._ She looked out of the window at the rain hitting the glass. "What's going to happen to me?"

"That I have not yet decided," he went to the window, looking out on the dismal, rainy night. "As you can imagine, it is undesirable that you know what you do. Then there is this curious and defiant streak in you," he circled around her. "Here you are, sneaking about in the dead of night. Breaking in no less. And with these effects," he noted the lock-pick, Swiss army knife and letter opener pen he had confiscated. "Insignificant as they are - how can you be trusted..."

"I wasn't planning to do anything," she protested. "I was just… curious, I suppose. And - you said that you knew I would" she sighed, deflating back on the sofa.

"What did you think you would do after discovering the truth?"

"To be honest I… I don't think I really knew."

"Hmm, perhaps you are quite foolish then. But, what need have I for someone so naive?"

Knowing that he would not just let her go, and he might, therefore, prefer her dead… unless she could give him a reason to keep her alive. "You… need me to finish the assignment that you employed me for?" she suggested unsurely.

"It is not significant, and can be done without," he dismissed her.

"But… you said that I was doing a good job with it. Surely I could help with something else then?"

"Indeed. But, there are others I can already call upon, and still, others that I could procure for it. So, what reason have I to keep you in particular, especially now?"

"Well, then you might as well just kill me then if that's what you mean is the last resort."

"Such a drastic measure is unnecessary," he said flatly without pause. But it seemed he had expected her to initiate negotiations - like recommending herself for a job or making a business deal - and was miffed that she hadn't given him the pleasure of a discussion he would relish. "No… You will stay with me. You can assist me in some capacity, I suppose. You have some useful knowledge and skills. And, you've done well with what I engaged you for in the first place… Apart from your inquisitive transgressions," he replied. "But understand, what I'm offering is not charity. You must know that you answer to me now. This is not simply an employment relationship that you can forget when not in working hours, nor resign from. You are mine. I want you to be my attendant and you will serve me."

She stared at him open-mouthed. "So - what? I'm your slave now? Is that what you're saying?" The words tumbled out as a sinking feeling of dismay seized her.

"If that's the way you want to describe it," he didn't contradict her, so at least he was honest about it. "But I can make it worth your while."

"I don't care about how much money you have," Amelia responded immediately. Feeling anxious, yet finding some strength. "You can't be allowed to do this - I mean, technically this can't be legal? You can't do this. I-I won't let you."

"I think you'll find I can," he said quite coldly.

"How am I supposed to live?" Amelia protested, patting the sofa annoyance. "I'm supposed to be going home, my visa-"

"It will be taken care of."

"But," she jumped off the sofa and paced to him framed in the window. "But, I can't just stay. There are things I need to sort out. And, oh, I can't just disappear. People will wonder why... You need not have me! Surely, someone else would be more convenient for you?"

"As I said, it can all be arranged," he showed no reaction.

"But, why go to the trouble? There must be hundreds - thousands - out there that you could choose," she gestured out of the window. "And much more easily. Why must it be me?"

"There are others of more experience and skills who could be more easily procured. But they do not know what you do. It is best not to bring more than the minimum necessary into this knowledge. There are only a few options to solve this problem. Keeping you to work for me is the best in my estimation."

"But… can't you just let me go? I won't tell anyone. I doubt anyone would believe me."

He almost laughed, "there are some who would, even if most thought you mad. And you know of specific details, perhaps enough to convince that it is not mad ravings. No, you cannot leave. And, even if you did, how will it look if I were to detail your predilection for sneaking around as you have been?"

So he would make life difficult for her then? "But that's… not my fault. Anyone could understand if they knew."

"Perhaps, but no one can know. You will tell no one," his grey eyes held determination in them. "Do you understand me?"

Perhaps she could go along with it. "But I was only supposed to stay a couple of months longer. Not, whatever length of time you're expecting from me now," she opened her hands. "And what am I supposed to tell anyone who expects me back?"

LaCroix thought about that for a moment. On the one hand, it might have seemed preferable that no one knew. But on the other, people would look for her if she seemed to have gone missing. Better if it was legitimate and normal, innocuous to suspicion. "Tell them that you've had a job offer - one that is very lucrative for you. Surely, after studying and your academic accomplishments, they will be pleased for you."

"But I -". She didn't have any close family waiting really. Not now. So, she couldn't convince him that anyone would come looking for her. Of course, her extended family and friends might wonder, but she wasn't close to them, so the explanation that she had a job would be accepted and not thought strange. Her father, however, would have certainly questioned this and would want her back home. "I can't."

He turned around considering her with something like concern, "The situation will not be as dire as you think. I have expectations of course. _Don't_ disappoint them. But, know that I am not unreasonable compared to others. You'll feel glad when you know more. I'll take care of you, so long as you do what I ask. You'll be quite comfortable. We can examine the details later, but you'll not need to worry. You'll be paid, and accommodation can be arranged, perhaps some expenses covered if required."

"Well, there's obviously a catch. What will I be expected to do?" She asked quietly but crossed her arms.

"Anything I'd like," he said as if it was obvious.

"Oh," that sinking feeling still there. She knit her hands together, wringing in nervousness. Paid for accommodation. Good salary and an allowance. Belonging to him. Being his attendant and companion. And, he was extremely rich so none of this was difficult for him. She did not like the sound of this at all. It sounded like he was buying her. What _else_ did he want her to do?

He went on as if sensing her unease, "for now, I'll have you just in my Haven - where I live. That is the term we use for it," he explained as she furrowed her brow in confusion. "I know you can organise, manage and look after information and records, so you can assist in that capacity. Since your current assignment is incomplete, you will carry on with that as agreed. Then, you can assist with the move to Los Angeles."

"Ok. So… like a PA?" She was warming to the idea. Though the idea of going to LA did not appeal to her greatly. If she had to stay with him, she'd rather stay here in New York.

"Something like that. But, just here for now I suppose. I have others to deal with the business side, and you don't have enough experience for that." He was slightly dismissive. "You will continue in a similar capacity to your work so far, which you have done well with, by the way. I am pleased with you."

She seemed a little more cheered by that as if complement from him eased the issues. And the thought of interesting antiquarian books and old collections of items he still possessed. This situation might be quite comfy, maybe she could live with it? "Ok," she bit her lip. "But, would I have to -"

"Yes?"

"Erm," she swallowed, "let you… er, drink my blood."

"Perhaps."

"Oh." _Well, of course - how obvious_ , she thought sarcastically.

"It need not be pernicious," he reassured her, but his expression had slight amusement. "In fact, you might find that you don't mind."

Certainly, in that dream, it was far from unpleasant, nor something undesired or traumatic. Quite the opposite. She felt herself going red. "What about... Anything else?" her voice trailed off.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you expect anything… intimate, I mean?"

" _No_ ," he said firmly and off-hand as if repulsed by something vulgar, which made her feel inadequate. But she knew how messed up that was - to be disappointed that he didn't want to take advantage like that. If anything it was a blessing. "That is not something to indulge in with Kine."

Since she knew that "Kine" was an archaic word for cattle, it stung to be referred to this way. She could see the sense it made for a vampire to whom people were just walking blood-bags that were sometimes useful, but no more. However he had been human once, and so the difference between them was not as concrete as he might like to frame it. Maybe he just didn't care anymore and was barely resembling anything human once the mask slipped. But she wasn't sure either way yet.

At least, in his way, he seemed to have a sense of propriety… even if it was due to his arrogance and superiority. A wave of relief washed over her at this. But the prospect of him wanting to drink her blood was more worrying - was that even safe? He might kill her, deliberately or accidentally.

LaCroix glanced at his watch. 6:30 am. It would be morning in half an hour. Amelia thought briefly that if only she could keep him talking longer, but it was obvious that he was too aware of the time for that to work. He went away from the window and sat on the sofa, and gestured her to join him. She followed, sitting next to him awkwardly.

He pressed a remote control, and the blackout-blinds and shutters went down over the windows, and the long curtains closed too. Plunging the room into a permanent night, as if in a world of darkness.

"Now, one more thing." LaCroix took off his suit jacket, which was slightly alarming to her. He removed a cufflink from his shirt cuff and loosened the sleeve, exposing the bare white flesh of his wrist. A sinking feeling. Somehow, she knew what was coming.

Regaining his sense of aloof composure, he straightened himself up, his grey eyes swept over her imperiously and met hers again with a look of speculative contemplation. It was like a languid dream that she watched him bring his wrist to his mouth and bite; blood beginning to stream down his ghostly pale wrist.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was uncertain as she peered at this curious act. "You… aren't going to turn me into a vampire, are you?"

"No," he said in a bored tone. She felt his hand snake around her with fingers that left a cool trail and rested around her arm. There was no pain; his touch was light yet the hold felt like iron. "I hadn't intended to do this quite yet, but given the circumstances…"

His bleeding wrist he offered for her to drink. She felt sick with worry. "You didn't say… I-I don't," she whispered hoarsely as one fresh from a dream.

He lifted her chin with a touch of his fingers and his eyes fixed on hers. And could hear her pulse had quickened with nerves. He anticipated her reluctance to drink his blood since she was afraid of forming an attachment to him.

"I don't think that's a good idea." She felt her sureness grow clouded in the full attention of his gaze. She felt slightly delirious. She could smell the richness of his blood so close and it made her nauseous to find she desired to taste it.

"This can be made easy," his eyes turned to ice with the edge of irritation in the low tones of his eloquent voice. _Offered his superior blood and reluctant to taste it? Insolent mortal creature._

Her lips felt dry. Her eyes fell from his eyes to his wrist, bleeding and the redness of the blood contrasted on his pale skin was something a bit disturbing yet fascinating. How was he bleeding? He had no circulation. Her head bowed over it; hands tentatively taking his arm for a bit of reassurance and then a tentative dip of her tongue.

The blood tasted like nothing she could have ever tasted. Richness and cold power; yet it warmed her like the finest Cognac. Better than the one he had given her. No burn; just a pleasant, luxuriant warmth spreading down her throat and throughout her body.

He stroked her hair. His binding of her to him would not yet be permanent. It was not out of particular cruelness, but practicality and self-preservation. He would prefer not to necessitate this. Although some were reasonable, he found Ghouls to be troublesome because their attachment could devolve from loyalty to disturbing adoration, neediness and even base obsession to the degree that they became useless and intolerable. Perhaps, with her strong will, she would be different.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note:** Sorry for the slight delay. But here is a long chapter, from LaCroix's POV. In this chapter he (and you readers) will get to know a little more about my OC, Amelia. Likewise, there's some insight into being a ghoul, based on the sourcebook _Ghoul: Fatal Addiction_ , although I have adjusted/added some aspects.

Thank you for your follows and reviews. Enjoy :D

* * *

An hour since he arrived home after a lengthy board meeting and Sebastian LaCroix sat in his office contemplating a few subjects on his mind. Principal among these were machinations on his position. How might he turn his soon-to-be dominion of Los Angeles to his favour - a power he could maintain? And, avoid himself becoming just a useful - but disposable - instrument of the Camarilla's ends, a suspicion he couldn't shake the feeling of.

As for the young woman, it had been a few nights since the previous events. He had yet to interact with her again and, for the time being, that seemed reasonable. His schedule was filled with business dealings. Not to mention Camarilla politics and Ventrue meetings to consider, none of which she was yet privy to. For now, he did not think it appropriate to expose her to any of this. Still reeling from the shock of his reality, she was a liability and could be exploited. Others would know she was a new servant of his - they could smell it on her.

It was better for her to be kept here for now. Which was not a great deal different from her previous behaviour - she hadn't left the house much anyway. There was the matter of the training course she was attending, but if there was a chance of her encountering the hunter again, LaCroix would rather prevent it.

She had been in her apartment since the discovery and her initiation through the blood. This was just as well - a few days to calm down and adjust would do her good. She could not escape - unless she had a head for heights, but it was a long way down to street level. And whatever weaponry she had - though inconsequential and minor - had been confiscated so she couldn't fashion any nasty surprises. In spite of her timid persona, she had proved bolder than appearances seemed.

It had been a while since she had come out of her apartment, and hadn't been letting in the other ghoul called Leticia Bianchi. It appeared that she had locked herself inside. But she would have to come out sooner or later.

What was her reaction to the first time receiving his blood? Some were full of elation and invigorated by a feeling of potency when vampiric vitae commingled with theirs. With this usually came a deep feeling of devotion towards their regnant. Sometimes with worrying obsession. But, since she had not been coming to find him every night, he deduced that this hadn't happened so forcefully. Which was just as well. He loathed when they followed one about like a lovesick puppy.

He supposed he could have refrained from doing it yet. Had he been too rash? No one else was aware. The only other Kindred who had interacted with her was the Ventrue fledgeling Marianne Stewart, a Childe of an associate of his. She was serving as his PA during a period of mentorship from LaCroix, but had not worked with Miss Siddall for weeks, and had no idea that the mortal woman had learned his true nature now. Only he knew. So it could have been kept a secret for a short time, even though her knowledge of him technically broke the First Tradition… But it had been done. Had to be. He'd always had it in mind, so why did it matter when it took place? No, the circumstances did matter, and they were not as ideal as he had planned… But now, the situation had to be accepted, and he to take responsibility for it.

Since she had yet to leave her room, he had sent her a message early this evening.

Miss Siddall,

It has come to my attention that you have been absent from work the past few days and that you have remained in your apartment for the entirety of this time. You must attend to your assignment so that completion can be achieved.

Whilst I appreciate that the enormity of these new circumstances must be overwhelming, and am prepared to allow grace for the last few days, you must cooperate.

I have some business to attend tonight but will be in my office from 11:00 pm until midnight. I hope you will make an appearance soon, of your own volition.

\- S.L.

It was almost midnight. LaCroix tapped his pen on the tabletop. Tap, tap, tap. An infuriating way to count down the seconds. She had yet to appear and had not given him the courtesy of a reply. He got the impression that she was avoiding him. Possibly afraid, which was understandable. But if she was going to continue these insurrections, then he would have to scrap the whole idea. Then, there were only two options. One of which would spare her life and was perhaps the kindest thing he could do, but entailed psychological conditioning to make her forget everything. However the process of a blood bond had begun, and the situation was difficult.

LaCroix himself, of course, would not go up to the apartment he had allocated to fetch her. Instead, he preferred to summon. This compelling effect would reach out to her like a mysterious voice on the wind that must be followed. A somewhat advanced discipline, but made easier via connection in the blood. He wondered how long it would take her to arrive.

But before that was necessary, a soft knock on the door caught his attention. "Enter," he responded, appearing indifferent as he worked on writing something.

The door opened just enough for a glimpse of her pale face framed in the doorway peering around it awkwardly.

"There you are," LaCroix said dryly. She slowly opened the door enough to let herself slip through. "A little late, but at least you finally deigned to appear," his sarcasm palpable and seemed to make her wince. He watched how she lingered in the space between his desk and the door, but closer to the latter. Usually, she was in smart business casual, though not exceedingly glamourous or of high-end sophistication. But having a proper view of her now, she was in a sweater dress of a thick material and a rather shapeless form. A deal more casual than he had previously seen her in. Somewhat divergent behaviour than expected - often ghouls would go out of their way to impress. She, however, appeared to be resisting. He stared at her expectantly for a moment when she remained there. "Sit, please."

She looked down at the chair opposite him; sitting in it with a rigid posture as though ready to leap out of it. The long sleeves pulled down over her hands. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she glanced at the time, "but it's only just midnight. You told me that would be alright?"

He noted that she seemed nervous, so thought it better to show some sympathy. "Yes. I suppose I did not specify an exact time. I'll let it go tonight, but remember this next time."

"Now, I wonder, why were you absent from your work?" he asked.

"Isn't that… obvious? After this, I've had so much to think about… how could I concentrate?"

"I understand. The last few days of absence will be allowed."

"That's… generous of you," she said, not quite believing if he was genuine and sceptical of why he would do it.

"It's reasonable," he said. "Now, given the situation, I'd like to know a few things about you. When we spoke last, you said there were people to inform, now that you are staying in my employ for longer than originally contracted. You have done this I take it?"

"No…"

"Why not?" He gave her a hard look.

"Look," she took a deep breath, putting her hands on his desk. "It's not easy for me - you are asking me to be dishonest. How do you expect me to say that I'm ok? I'm clearly not. I'm under duress - you're holding me against my will - you are also a vampire and it's more than likely that you will kill me at some point anyway! And if not you, being with you shall put me in the path of others who might. How the hell do you expect me to do this?" She started shaking; tears starting to build behind her eyes.

LaCroix watched her. "Do not tell anyone," he responded cautiously; unsettled by this sudden outburst.

"Yeah- yeah. I know," she looked away from him. "Do you honestly think they would believe me anyway?"

"It is unlikely, but there is always a chance. One can never be too careful. Regardless, I am not asking you to be entirely dishonest. It is a job opportunity - well rewarded as I have told you."

"But… but you want me to act as if 'everything is fine'," she adopted a mocking voice; artificial, painted smile, but the sadness and desperation of the situation overwhelming her suddenly, "but you know that it is not. You want me to tell my Aunt that her sister's only daughter - me - is safe, well and secure - when I am not. You like to think of yourself as noble - going about in this haughty; lordly manner; as if you are respectable and honourable. Pretending to be so hospitable and trustworthy to me. But really you're - you're," she tried to muster the words, "a vampire and you just want to use me. And... I've never met anyone as despicable in my life."

LaCroix was very silent for too long.

"Too much truth for you then," she was passive-aggressive; folding her arms.

"Do you take pleasure in antagonising me, Miss Siddall?"

"No," she seemed uneasy now. He was staring her down, and she realised she might have been more honest than she knew he could tolerate.

More silence. "Then, why do you insist on being so uncooperative?"

"I… don't. It's just what you're doing is bad. Someone needs to let you know it. Do you want everyone to be totally subordinate all the time?"

"Listen to me." His grey eyes like ice-fire bore into hers. "I told you before how fortunate you are, but I see that you have paid no heed. Do not speak to me in this way, and then presume to lecture me on honour and dignity. Courtesy is earned. Just as respect is earned. And you are insolent. You are also my servant. And you presume too much. Now, just answer my questions."

He paused to collect himself again, expecting that she would cooperate with him, yet just as he was about to continue his questions, he heard her questioning little voice again.

"But what about -"

"Silence!"

"No," she stamped her feet.

He sighed in an exaggerated way; more expression of exasperation than physiological since he had no need to breathe, "I'm tired of this. You may leave," he said not looking at her as he dismissed her.

''What?" It looked as if she was about to burst into tears. In spite of the situation and not really wanting to be here, at the same time she wanted to continue the interaction. This desire was perplexing. Perhaps the influence of his blood at work. A look of uncertainty on her face, "but I thought you wanted to ask me about?"

"Get out!" His frustration got the better of him

"Fine," she cried in defiance.

He watched her dash out of the room; it sounded like she was trying not to cry. She couldn't move fast enough and almost stumbled as her foot caught on the chair leg, but didn't fall. With unexpected strength for a woman her size, she flung open the door and slammed it shut, making a shudder through the walls.

* * *

An hour later. Time to think about what she had done. It had been quite heated earlier, and he needed time to collect himself. He had let himself become agitated by her and wasn't dealing with her properly. On some level, he felt a slight tinge of guilt. He'd been thinking of what to do after this. Perhaps too harsh. Her despair and outrage are… understandable. But she needs to learn that certain things must be adhered to.

He still needed some answers from her, and it would not hurt to try for some reconciliation. Because of the circumstances in which she had found out what he was, he knew she was primed to resent him; to regard him with contempt and hatred. Blood Bonds could compel loyalty certainly, but ghouls could be creatures of great passion, and this may lean more to hatred than to love. That could be dangerous - many hunters had their origins there. So he had to make amends somewhat.

Furthermore, in spite of the fortifying and loyalty instilling effects upon a mortal, some did not take to it so with such easy bliss. Some reacted with ill-feeling - sometimes like a milder version of that experienced in the first nights after the Embrace. He suspected this may be the case with her.

He had to smooth things over. Perform a measured dose of sympathy. Show her that he was not a complete monster, though she no doubt regarded him as one. But if she thought he was evil, well, she was very naive of how much worse others could be.

Knowing that she had returned to her apartment - he could sense her presence in that direction - he had followed her upstairs. Although he had a set of keys, he hadn't been to the second apartment in the building for some time; actually not at all since she had been staying there. No doubt this would surprise her now, and she would not believe it since her mind was probably full of all sorts of ideas and assumptions, not all of them unreasonable to be fair.

"Miss Siddall?" He asked at the door, knocking lightly on it.

No answer.

He could hear her heartbeat and could sense her presence inside, though wasn't sure of her precise position yet. It was after 1:00 am, so it was conceivable that she might have gone to bed but he doubted it.

A slight ruffling sound, then silence. Too much silence, like she was trying to stay perfectly still and quiet, though not quite successful given that she was alive. When he honed in on the sounds he could hear her breathe, however shallow she tried to make it. Heart-beating… slightly faster now - nervous? He was sure she was completely aware of him being here, but waiting for him to leave.

"Our meeting earlier… it was not as I intended and ended too abruptly. There is still much that must be covered, preferably now," he said, but reassuringly. If he had to, he could unlock the door, however, it appeared she left her key in the other side to prevent this possibility.

He remained quiet for a minute or so after that, to let her think he had gone because he was interested in what she would do if she believed that. Indeed, her presence seemed to have come closer to the door, probably to listen. "I know you are there," he said.

A floorboard creaked - she must have moved suddenly.

"Open the door," he instructed.

Something moved - it sounded like some piece of furniture pushed across the floor. The key turning in the door, and then it slowly opened only just ajar but no more. LaCroix immediately pushed it open fully, and strode into the room as soon as he had the opportunity. Miss Siddall was near one of the large armchairs from the lounge, but she had moved it from there.

"You don't mean to tell me that you made a barricade with that surely?" he eyed her and the chair, which she looked down at and up at him sheepishly. He remembered that Ms Bianchi had said that Miss Siddall had not let her in, so she must have started doing this regularly.

"Well, you can't blame me for doing it, can you?"

"I can see why you would think so. However, it is not necessary." He couldn't say that her doing this hurt him as such. It didn't bother him if she had a healthy respect for him - if that meant she was scared of him at least a little bit, so be it. But to be honest he didn't take complete pleasure in causing such terror. He'd much rather their interactions be reasonable, controlled, calm and any other positive synonym. Scaring her to death was counterproductive. "You will desist in this silly behaviour."

She looked a bit unsettled, "but it gives me peace of mind. I suppose I'll have to just sleep in the day time now…"

"Why? You think I will visit you here?"

She shrugged and put her hands on her hips dramatically, "well, I don't know? Why wouldn't you?"

"If it will appease you, I won't visit here again after this conversation, unless it is a necessity. But in that case, I will notify you."

She looked at him in disbelief, "I-I don't believe you."

"You have my word."

"But - you had those things from here? On the night when…"

"Ms Bianchi came in while you were out exploring and gave them to me. I haven't visited this apartment since you arrived."

"Um, okay," her voice sounded uncertain. Continuing to stand at one side of the chair, using it as a blockade. "For what it's worth, I still don't see why you wouldn't. But if you say so."

"Good. Now, let me in," he said referring to the chair which was still blocking the hallway.

"Ok," she sighed and folded her arms; looking quite cross. "But what do you want? Are you going to shout at me again?"

"As I remember, it was you who started shouting at me. I hoped to find you calm, now that you've had some time to think things over." He looked at her expectantly, until she pushed the chair back to its position in the lounge.

The room was dark, and he got the impression she'd switched off all the lights to hide. The bifold door through to the bedroom was open slightly ajar, giving a glimpse of the bed. The covers ruffled and thrown back suggesting that she must have have been in it. She still had that pullover dress on, but it looked like she'd just pulled it on over her nightdress. Considering her eccentric choice of clothes to explore his house a few nights ago, he presumed she had a penchant for loungewear. He was surprised she was at ease with this, given her general shyness suggested she was not a woman especially comfortable in displaying herself in revealing clothes.

"See it as you see it, you mean."

"Ah, I see you are still argumentative." He turned 180 degrees to her as soon as she spoke. "Well… I've had time to consider your actions earlier and, although you were disrespectful to me, I have taken into consideration the circumstances and will give you another chance. Do you have anything to say?"

"No," she replied tersely with resignation. "I'm sorry."

"Very good," LaCroix sat down on the best seat, although she did not join him straight away; lingering about at the other side of the chair, near the small kitchen area.

She got a glass of water before approaching. "I'd offer you a drink, but I imagine there's nothing you'd be interested," she joked as if humour was a way to cope; to diffuse her anxiousness. And she did appear more confident in that moment, though it faded a little into uncertainty, "well… I suppose there's something you might… but I-"

"Don't worry about that now," LaCroix interjected, sensing she might start rambling. "Let's concentrate on the matter at hand. Sit down." He wasn't thirsty at this moment, as he'd already fed. Not that he didn't think of it, but it was of secondary importance to what he needed to know, so the thought was only brief. "Now, I summoned you to my office for some information I need about you. This is important so that everything can run as smoothly and painlessly as possible. Firstly, why have you not informed anyone of your extended employment, as I instructed? You said you hadn't yet, and expressed several concerns in explanation for this, which I appreciate. However, the sooner it is done the better. Are there any impediments to this?"

"No, I suppose not," she shrugged and sat down on the chair opposite. "It's just… like I said - you're asking me to be dishonest. To make it sound like a good thing - but I don't see how it could be called that. First - you are keeping me under duress. Second - you want me to be subservient to you. It doesn't take a genius to guess why I might not be okay with that."

"You feel frightened and distrustful of me. Yes, I understand," he nodded. Still some resistance from her, meaning that the Blood Bond hadn't made her totally dote on him, which in certain ways a good thing, however, he did want some obedience at least. "And I'll allow a short period of time for you to acclimatise, all things considered. But you must - must adhere to what I tell you. Then it will all be perfectly reasonable."

She looked at him as if she was trying to figure him out. "You're just buttering me up now aren't you," she sighed, crossing her arms.

"Think what you will," he scowled a little. "You'll be well compensated as I've already explained."

"Material gain doesn't make up for everything you know," she sighed.

"No?" He found it hard to believe that she wouldn't be a least somewhat tempted. Most would.

"No. Not if I'm going to be mistreated and tormented all the time. Constantly threatened by you if I even say anything," She said forthrightly.

"I'm not keen on mistreating you for its own sake. I do not believe it to help manage my retainers. But, you weren't reasonable earlier either, and you should be punished. However, your uncertainty of the situation got the better of you, so I'll overlook it this time."

"I suppose so," she sighed, deciding it was for the best to go along with it, believing that he couldn't bear a difference of opinion.

"Anyway, what are your circumstances?"

She looked surprised at how quickly he had moved to another subject. "What do you mean?" She was just buying time; probably wondering how wise it was to open herself up, thinking him unlikely to be a friend to her.

"Family circumstances. Your parents?"

A pause. Amelia looked as if she was deciding what to tell him, "you don't need to worry. I've no ties or commitments."

"Why? Explain."

She sighed, picking at the woolly skirt of her knit dress. "We lost my mum several years ago," she looked plaintive.

A sad atmosphere. "Oh… I'm sorry for your loss," he struck a sympathetic tone. Whether he meant it or not was another matter. Since she was suspicious of him, it was doubtful she believed him.

"Thanks."

"And, your father?"

"I haven't seen much of him due to work," she said vaguely, which piqued his suspicion and curiosity.

"What type of work?"

She shrugged, "security. I don't know much about it though. Sometimes he was away a lot."

"'Was'?" LaCroix pressed her.

"Well, I haven't seen him in… over a year. Some type of work contract. I don't know. To be honest, I-I was - and am still concerned because of not hearing anything," she admitted, but putting a guarded, diplomatic sheen on it; not wanting to be too familiar with him.

"Hmmm," LaCroix wrote down some notes, "I see." This may be something that warranted more attention at some point, but he'd not press it for now. Tragic, but it was more convenient for him. He could see Amelia lean forward a little, peering at what he was doing. He ignored this and continued his questioning. "Had he always worked in that field? If not, had he a military background perhaps?"

"Um, no," Amelia said but didn't elaborate further. "Why do you ask that?"

"It's not significant," he dismissed, "but a reasonable assumption - security and intelligence work often go with military and defence sectors."

"Yes, I see what you mean," she appeared to think as if there was more that could be expanded upon, but deciding whether to do so or not. LaCroix paused, looking at her to prompt a further answer. "No, he had manual jobs before that - um, in mining and steel manufacture," she smiled forthrightly, as if aware of the lower class connotation; taking it with pride, but wondering how this fact would be received by him.

That makes sense, LaCroix thought. Miss Siddall was an intelligent, accomplished, well-spoken young woman, bearing little of the ill-bred traits of the lower classes. However, there were small things that indicated to him that she wasn't from privilege. How she expressed and carried herself; what she appeared accustomed to, all was subtly clear to him after interacting with her for a while. That she was proletariat derived explained this for him. But she did put on a good show.

"I see," he showed no reaction, sure that she would be sensitive to perceived inferiority. "Have you any siblings?"

"No. Just me."

"Close friends?"

"Not really. I mean, I've got some friends yes. But, I suppose they're just acquaintances. With the distance, those at home and that I met at university in London will probably move on to other things; live their own lives as people do. I made some friends here while I was an exchange student. In fact, some are still studying, so I was in touch with them a bit. Some might ask how I'm doing, I guess, since they're in the same field, but probably won't look any deeper once I say I have a job." She smiled wryly, "so, I can't think of anyone who would set up a search party to save me from you if that's what you're concerned with."

"Perhaps but one can never be complacent," he replied while writing a note. "But I can believe you. Friendships tend to be circumstantial, and therefore drift apart naturally. You can count very few that can be relied upon in life."

Seeming comforted by this small flash of friendly advice she smiled, "and in Unlife too, I'm sure."

"Even more true in fact," he said with a tone of cynicism. But soon put that aside, not wanting to give her too much familiarity. "With that in mind - another thing to ask. Are you in a relationship?"

"No," she said in a drawn-out way; looking at him in surprise that he'd ask this.

"Any prospects of one?" he probed.

"Not that I know of," she lightly scowled; taken aback at him asking this. "Why are you writing this down?" she asked that he made a note of her answers.

"Because I want to," he looked at her haughtily. "Now, as this position was temporary - have you made any other employment arrangements?"

"No," she shook her head. "Well, I had made some applications... but I've not had any offers yet, so no."

"Just as well." He wondered, what applications had she made? But that's a question to ask some other time. For now, such details were not the main thing on his mind. "You will need to withdraw from what application processes you have begun since it's no longer necessary."

"Ok," she said dejectedly.

"So… you effectively have no ties. But you said there was someone you needed to tell? You mentioned your Aunt - how close are you?"

"Well, she's my mum's half-sister. Same father. When I was younger I didn't get to know her much to be honest. I suppose my grandma and her father were estranged you know because they were divorced. They were more affluent than us. After my mum… I got to know her a bit more. And er, after my dad seemed to drop off the face of the earth, she helped me with what to do with jobs - suggested to me to do my master's degree. She was a teacher and then a librarian at a university library you see."

''So, she knows about you taking this employment contract here?" He asked and Amelia nodded. "Are you're in regular contact?"

"Emails mostly. Sometimes telephone."

"Have you told her anything about the details of your employment here, or about my person?" LaCroix felt the need to ask.

"No, just vaguely the material I'm working on, but not in detail. And also no - I haven't described you or my suspicions about you - I'm not that stupid you know," she teased.

"Well, you can tell her that you were offered a permanent position at the Los Angeles offices, which are being expanded and redeveloped, and you have chosen to accept. That should be believable. I'll give you until the end of the week."

"Ok," she seemed resigned to going along with what he said.

"Now, that is all I wanted to ask you. I'll expect you attending to your work again tomorrow. I'd like your original assignment complete by the end of the month - which gives you two weeks," he smiled smugly, knowing that this would be a tight deadline. "After that, there's another task I want you to do before we leave here." he looked as if he was about to leave.

"Ok, but I have some questions too," she put her glass down on the coffee table.

"Yes," he sighed heavily, "what would you like to know?"

"Will I be allowed to go to the training course again next weekend?" she asked shyly.

"We'll see," LaCroix replied, a slightly mean smile crossing his face. "If you work well the rest of the week, perhaps. But you'll be escorted directly there and back. No time to wander. I don't want you meeting someone like before again."

"Okay." She bit her lip, "also, um, when I found out about you the other night. Did you leave that glass of blood for me to find?"

"Yes," haven't I explained this before? "I suspected you had become suspicious. Then there was the evidence of your research and the rosary and address found here. So I left a clue you would certainly find and couldn't fail to realise the significance of."

"What about the reason for employing me in the first place - it was because of what I saw, wasn't it? Outside at the New York Public Library - that was another vampire drinking blood from a person, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Perhaps now was a good time to give her a simple overview of the state of things. "There are several factions within Kindred society - and not on good terms with one another. The one you saw belonged to the Sabbat - they are antithetical to the Camarilla - the sect to which I belong. To keep it very simple, they are particularly nefarious and given to glutinous savagery. So you should think yourself lucky that I came across you first otherwise… well," he paused to dramatic effect, "it is best not to think about what they would have done to you."

"Ok," she looked at him wide-eyed. "You said 'belonged' - past tense?"

"Yes. As I'm sure it will hearten you to know, that individual was destroyed, along with the others. A ragtag bunch; no serious threat, but destructive in spite of their often short shelf-life."

"Oh that's good," she seemed visibly happier to know this. "Also, um," she fidgeted, "before I found the glass the other night, I saw you -"

"You saw me feeding," he admitted. There was no point in hiding this; it was better to normalise the concept to her. "Normally, that is something I'd take precautions to ensure that you never witnessed, since discretion is most important. However, as you were already becoming aware, I allowed it."

"So… they're alright then? The person you were..." she grimaced, the idea of him drinking blood still clearly disturbing.

"Yes. It isn't necessary to completely drain someone. I've fed from that individual before. You see, I'm Ventrue - one of several bloodlines." Seeing her look at him in wonder at this he remembered that she didn't know anything yet. "You'll be informed about that some other time, as no doubt you'll encounter others sooner or later. Anway, Ventrue can only feed on select people - which varies for each individual. Therefore, it's preferable to maintain a reliable selection of suitable vessels - and not to kill them since our taste is rarefied and supply is finite. So yes, that person is completely fine. Do you understand?"

She drank a sip of water, "yes, I can see your logic. Um, so what about the other thing you did? You gave me… your blood," she said at length, as if not wholly accepting of the fact. "What does that mean? You said that it wouldn't turn me into a vampire, so what does this make me?"

"Turning another into a 'vampire' is more specific process, called the Embrace, although it too involves the consumption of Kindred Vitae - vampire blood," he explained. "But you don't need to know too much about that now. In your case, no you are not a vampire. You are technically still human, and still mortal - but 'enhanced', you might say. I am your Domitor; you are by vassal - a servant." He left out the more unflattering name "ghoul" for now since it would be unwelcome to her, and was not a polite term anyway.

"Hmm, ok," she looked dejected. She seemed independent-minded and therefore was not at all fond of the idea of being servile. Which made sense since she had a working-class background, but had ambitions beyond that. "But I feel… kind of weird though."

"That's normal. I suppose this is why you haven't wanted to come out of here yet?" she nodded in reponse. "Yes. Well, you may feel a little - unusual at first, due to the supernatural effects."

"Supernatural effects?" She looked at him, slightly in awe. "Oh, that explains it," she said as if something had been puzzling her the last few days.

"What?"

"Oh, well it's just I've felt… different. Physically. Stronger than I'm used to… and also my senses seem… better. I could hear Leticia's footsteps from the other side of the corridor, which I thought was really weird."

"Yes," He warned, "however, these effects are only temporary, and will fade without a regular supply of my blood."

Miss Siddall didn't say anything for a while. And LaCroix believed that she was ill at ease with the idea of drinking his blood - never mind the possibility of him drinking hers. On the whole, however, LaCroix found this sober reaction of hers a positive - it was better if she didn't become overly enthusiastic straight away. Of course, it did give him a hold over her, but he wanted her to be able to work, not waste time constantly pestering him.

"Well, that is all for now -" he rose to leave.

"But I had other questions-" Amelia protested. In spite of still being wary of him, a part of her appeared to want him to stay a little bit longer.

"They'll be another opportunity. Good evening." He could feel her eyes on him, watching him leave.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the delay. I started a new job the beginning of October, so haven't had as much time. However, I've got this one done. I actually forgot to post it here actually, though i posted it on AO3.

Hopefully, I can reach my target of finishing 12 chapters by the end of this year. :)

* * *

It was already the early hours when LaCroix visited. After he left, Amelia hadn't found it easy to sleep again. So much to take in… Over the last few days, she hadn't left her apartment because of a sense of fear and distrust. All alone in the house of a vampire. What else could she do but try to secure herself here and not come out? The night brought unease in knowing he was active, so she hadn't slept well. She'd not let anyone else come in, such as Leticia, who knew the truth but hadn't given any warning nor strong sign. At least Mercurio had in some way, but he wasn't here and it was unfortunate she'd only known him briefly.

When LaCroix had invited - no summoned her to see him, she was reluctant and left it until the last minute - she had to at least make some appearance. It hadn't gone well. Perhaps she was off-hand with him, but there was a good reason. He was no better. He was unsympathetic and high-handed. Although he claimed to "appreciate" her difficulties, and would even forgo punishing her absence - how generous of him! He did not appreciate expressions of frustration when it didn't suit him. Oh, he is so unreasonable, Amelia thought, sitting in bed under the duvet cover and propped up on the pillows.

But then he came to see her again. Her nerves were frayed from the brief but volatile conversation before, so she was unlikely to sleep easy, nor to be happy to see him so soon. Yet it seemed he wanted to smooth things over; to make amends. He still had that arrogant air and expected her to apologise to him, even though she was the victim in all this. And then there were all these personal questions he asked; expecting her to answer as if it were his right to know everything about her. She gave only a simple overview which he seemed satisfied with. There were no great secrets or mysteries, anyway. But she barely knew him and felt uneasy of opening herself up too much. At least this time he was a little nicer.

She was not quite sure what to make of Sebastian LaCroix. Wary of his motives, how should she digest this tenor change? The interaction this time felt almost personal. In moments he seemed more human, and she could _almost_ like him. Even before knowing he was a vampire, the conversations had been amicable, despite his haughty airs. But that confused her in how to feel. This nicer manner may simply be a measured show of compassion, manipulatively planned. It was tempting to trust him because that was easy, but this may be naïve. There was so much he had told her, some of it vague; some of it enlightening. But he'd left her with more questions than answers.

That night at the New York Public Library - it seemed so long ago now, though less than five months had passed. It was the start of all this. Meeting LaCroix himself, but especially seeing that other vampire. It gave her shivers. A brief sight not fully understood at first, though it was deeply troubling; she'd begun to realise the truth. That poor victim viciously drained of blood. This had not left her mind. And now, knowing the full reality, could not be pushed away as the figment of a dream.

He said, albeit briefly, there were different sects of vampires. _Something called… "Sabbat"?_ So, that frightening individual in human form she'd seen was one of these? Well, that sounded apt; suitably evil sounding. But melodramatic. It was hard to take seriously - like something out of an outlandish gothic horror film. Yet here she was sat in a grand townhouse belonging to a mysterious, rich and a rather aristocratic individual… who happened to be a vampire. It was like she'd stumbled onto a film set. But whatever sources of amusement were to be found, the presence of that creature gave her chills. It made her feel better to know that it was no more. Yet clearly there were more, and she couldn't relax yet.

LaCroix had implied that some were worse than others. Should she be grateful that _he_ had intercepted her then, and not the other one? B _ut the other one hadn't noticed me anyway_ , she thought. _I was doing fine by myself, and didn't need "saving"._ His motive wasn't selfless. He was probably only helping because he wanted her blood as well and did not want anyone else getting the first bite. So much for being different. Was the other Sabbat vampire so much worse, and he so much better? Was she really "lucky" at all? Her surroundings here were certainly comfortable. LaCroix had the courtesy to make amends this time. She conceded that for the duration of her stay, nothing bad had happened; he had been generally civil affable… apart from frightening her half to death the other night, of course.

But he was still a vampire. Operating under the guise of falsehood, subterfuge and deceit. A masquerade. The blood he had to drink - whose was it? Such a manner of living must harm others. It was inevitable. She'd briefly glimpsed him drinking blood from someone, though it was dark and hard to see. What about them? He told her they were "completely fine", but she found that hard to believe. He had ulterior motives in telling her this.

When he was here in her apartment, she wasn't at ease with his presence. It was a reasonable assumption that he wanted to bite her; his interest in her must rest in this to some proportion. She made a nervous joke of it. But, truthfully, felt vulnerable being alone with him. His reassurance that he wouldn't do it had given her comfort… Indeed, as far as she could tell he hadn't bitten her. _Why not?_ It was suspicious and unlikely. There was that dream. The one that had followed the paper-cut and his strange reaction to her bleeding - the first strong indication of something abnormal. _Perhaps…_ but she didn't want to dwell on this.

LaCroix mentioned there were different bloodlines of vampires. _What was the name of the one he mentioned - Ventrue?_ He said that's what he is. And he mentioned something about them having specific tastes, and unable to feed on just anyone. Was she included in this exclusivity? She wondered what the specification was. _I hope it's not anything weird_. Some may feel that the prospect of a vampire wanting their blood specifically made them "special", and feel happy to let him. _Maybe he thinks I'll be flattered - he's certainly arrogant enough to think that. Some people might be: with his handsome face; charming ways and extreme wealth. Well, if he thinks I'll be so impressionable he can think again!_ But some people would, and surely _some_ of those suited him, no matter how fussy his tastes were. Yet he seemed to linger on her. That blood restriction sounded more like a flaw than merit. _I hope this interest in me is not some sort of obsessive fixation_. She'd read about vampires continuously visiting particular victims; not leaving them alone until they were dead.

But, in light of this restriction to certain people, it did make sense that he wanted the people he drank blood from to be fine after it. Killing prey when you require a specific but limited source would be stupid. Better then to take only so much blood and keep them alive. So, what he said was believable for this reason. _Maybe, a person can be fed on by a vampire without necessarily cause harm_ , she thought. _No. Wait_ , she caught herself, knowing that she ought to remain wary and not take him at his word. He may appear sophisticated and seem hospitable if not in a bad mood. It was easy to get taken in by him. But he was still a bloodsucking, undead thing. She shouldn't forget that. If she lingered on this creepy thought, it was hard to speak to him. Was he even alive? Was he even human anymore? Whatever facade of niceties, he was still drinking blood and wanted hers too. These assurances were not out of consideration for her, but because it suited him. Choosing not to harm or kill those he fed on was Machiavellian self-preservation, not a compassionate concern.

Overall, Amelia felt conflicted and wasn't sure how to react to all this. And there were many other concerns she had besides these mentioned. She knew not to let herself become too enchanted with him, and cynically reminding herself that if he seemed nice towards her, whatever he said or did, it was probably because it suited his ends. The likelihood of him caring about her, at this point, seemed slim to none.

* * *

Eventually, she did go to sleep. But not easily and slept in until 10:30 am. Leticia was absent. In the previous days, she had come up here in the mornings, although Amelia hadn't let her in. It was nice to have the quiet solitude of the day. It was not that she begrudged Leticia for not telling her, as she could understand the reasoning behind it. Although vaguely, LaCroix had explained her new circumstances and what receiving blood from him meant. But she could not yet acknowledge the truth of it and thought of it only in a distant, euphemistic way. Drinking his blood? A bridge too far. The worst thing was that it wasn't unpleasant. But she didn't like to think about that.

He said she was now a sort of servant of his. He chose words to soften any bitterness. But she could think of worse descriptors. And, of course, wasn't very happy with what he'd done. There did seem to be some advantages to it. However… the downsides weighed heavily. She'd be reliant on him, and therefore vulnerable. She could sense a force that pulled her to him. A Faustian bargain indeed, and not one of her choosing. So, she had some sympathy for Leticia's predicament. However, it made Amelia realise that her loyalties lay elsewhere and could not really be relied upon nor trusted.

That morning she started working again on her collection survey and cataloguing. She crept down into the main rooms of the house warily, but found herself alone and undisturbed, and settled into the surroundings. The job itself was fine. But working for a vampire? She tried not to think about that. The work did take her mind off thinking about him, though not with complete success. She was annoyed with herself for not thinking this job offer was too good to be true, although it had made sense and didn't land out of anywhere. In hindsight, she should not have accepted it, but now there was not much to be done about it. It has stung when he told her it wasn't that important - he just wanted a reason to keep her near.

The days that followed were much the same. There was less time to finish, now that LaCroix had decreed to move the deadline forward, so she was having to work very hard. It was lucky that she'd made most of the progress already. Sometimes, she was in the office until late and would watch the hours. In the daytime, the question of what he was doing passed in her thoughts. Sleeping, obviously, but was it like hers? Or was he just lying… lifeless? Shuddering, she pushed this thought away. As the night drew in, she wondered what time he awoke, and wanted to retreat to her apartment well before so she didn't see him at all.

A week passed.

She completed the report, spending a lot of time reviewing, editing, checking formatting and citations, self-critiquing until she'd had enough, and submitted it two days ago. And could relax, but not quite forget. This wasn't simply a coursework assignment for university. This was an actual, real-life project, and there was more at stake. Even though he said the work didn't particularly matter, LaCroix was paying for her expertise (quite generously in fact), so she better do it well.

She stopped blocking the door as he'd asked. It was still secure anyway, so she could live with that, although her unease had not entirely dissipated. He had promised that he hadn't been in her room before. The only proof was his word. For all she knew, he might visit to drink her blood every other night! However, she had experienced no symptoms of blood loss. This was no absolute assurance, but she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Honestly, the idea of him sneaking in here seemed very uncharacteristic. It wasn't his style.

Over the last two days, she had done little. Some tinkering with the databases; organising the books and records room. As for her job application processes, she had not yet declined them, thinking it best to wait until feedback from the work here, so she still had some options open. Who knows, the better one's might benefit her as leverage if LaCroix knew she was in consideration elsewhere - at good companies no less. He'd see her as an asset and uneasily disposed. But that was just a thought. There was nothing completed. With the eased scheduled - holidays - she'd relaxed a little. With less to do came fewer distractions from dwelling on the situation.

Thursday evening, Amelia received an email from her Aunt. This was a usual occurrence each week, to ask how she was doing, and to check she was okay. Present circumstances considered it was hard to answer this without difficulty.

 _(Subject) How are you?_

 _(From) Diana Southwick_

 _(To) Amelia Siddall_

 _Hi Amelia,_

 _I hope you are doing well and are ok. From what you have said, I'm sure you will be sorry to leave, as it sounds like a very nice set-up._

 _You seem to be enjoying the work you are doing at the moment - the material seems very interesting! I would have loved to work on a private collection like that myself. I know your internship and course was more focused on business information and records management, but you did always like historical things. I bet you have enjoyed it._

 _Speaking of which, you must be coming to the end of your work contract there? What are your plans following it? Have you done any applications yet - I have seen some openings that you may be interested in?_

 _Best wishes,_

 _Diana._

...

 _(Subject) RE: How are you?_

 _(From) Amelia Siddall_

 _(To) Diana Southwick_

 _Hi,_

 _Yes. It is comfortable; I liked it a lot. When I arrived, I was kind of in awe, but I suppose I'm more used to it now, but I'm still a bit amazed at times. I think that I attached some pictures to you of the apartment the first week I was here? So, you can see how nice it is. Of course, the rest of the house is on another level above that, but I can't show you. I suppose I would miss it, but it's not home._

 _I have made some job applications. But I should have told you this sooner, there may be a possibility of extending the contract here. And, as the LaCroix Foundation is expanding development at their Los Angeles office, I've been told that there may be some opportunities which may be suitable for me. But I don't know yet. It is a long way… What do you think?_

 _Love,_

 _Amelia_

...

 _(Subject) RE: How are you?_

 _(From) Diana Southwick_

 _(To) Amelia Siddall_

 _Oh, that sounds quite promising. Well, if you do have a contract extension there or further opportunities, it wouldn't hurt to accept. And now is a good time for you to take opportunities like this, while you don't have any ties holding you down. But it depends on what you'd like to do, or if you want to come home, which is understandable. You will have to see what the details are and see if they suit you._

 _I'm sure you'll be fine. It is a good sign that you are getting considered. You must have made a good impression. And, if it doesn't turn out, I'm sure you will find something else. Let me know. No doubt you'll find out soon, as otherwise, you'll be due to come home in a couple of weeks._

 _Love,_  
 _Diana xxx_

She still had yet to explicitly tell her Aunt that this change in circumstances was already decided. It was too difficult while knowing there were significant pieces of fact to be left out. Namely, that LaCroix was a vampire and therefore the situation less than glowing. He probably wouldn't take that well though.

Friday night she received permission to finally go out, so Saturday was spent at the rare books cataloguing and preservation training workshop again. She was escorted via the chauffeur at exactly the start and end times. There was no time to wander. Nor was there any sign of that strange man again, but this was LaCroix's intention since the thought of her fraternising with this individual made him uneasy for his existence, Amelia surmised. She was still not quite certain whether or not the man was a vampire hunter. Or, an investigator, a witch hunter, an inquisitor, a religious fanatic, or an exorcist. Perhaps even some combination of all these. LaCroix did not say exactly. But she assumed this was the case because he was so agitated on the discovery of her interaction with this person. He was angry, but it came from a place of fear. That had made him frightening. He had calmed down; there were moments of considerate actions; evidence he may not be acting out of deliberate maleficence. He probably had his demons in all this. A flicker of sympathy, but she was still wary. She simply did not know him well yet. It would be foolish to trust someone like this wholeheartedly too soon.

The night had drawn in, and she'd been back in her apartment awhile. She received an email about an hour ago. From him of course.

 _(Subject) Meeting arrangement_

 _(From) S. LaCroix_

 _(To) A. Siddall_

 _Miss Siddall,_

 _Considering the relocation to Los Angeles at the end of this month, I'd like to discuss some details with you. Come to my office at 9:30 pm promptly. It should not take long._

 _Please reply to confirm your attendance._

 _S.L._

 _P.S. I have read your report._

The postscript made her nervous, and she almost dropped her coffee on the laptop. _What did he want? Was it good enough? Or was it terrible? What if he just doesn't like it?_ If so, what if he'd make her do it again? But there was no more time. The situation was already precarious; the last thing she needed was to make things more difficult. There were things she knew that she wasn't supposed to, so couldn't afford to give him reasons not to keep her. She'd had less time than what she'd originally forecast, not to mention that her mind had been preoccupied with other more serious concerns than writing an audit report and cataloguing metadata for some old books and manuscripts! But she'd have to face it eventually. It was not to be the main subject of the conversation anyway. Why did he only mention it in passing? Was this task so irrelevant; just work created as a pretence? He was rich, so what he was paying her was probably nothing to him, but it had to matter to some degree at least. He wouldn't just throw money at her for nothing.

* * *

Amelia was half-way down the staircase as she made her way down to LaCroix's office before 9:30 pm. The door of his office opened, and she froze on the stairs. But then out came Leticia, who was small-framed and could slip out of the large doorway almost unnoticed, her dark hair pulled up in a loose bun and she wore the usual neat, smart but inconspicuous black dress. She was about to disappear down the next flight of stairs by the time Amelia reached the end of hers, but they greeted each other briefly, although it was evident that both could not stop for a chat long. No doubt too busy with tasks from LaCroix.

Amelia had assumed that Leticia was a maid or domestic assistant, as she appeared no older than Amelia - early to mid-twenties at most. However, while she did most housekeeping activities, she was also responsible for the household management as a whole, including supervising other domestic staff occasionally, so she may be older than what appeared. But there was no time to talk now. Leticia was gone, leaving Amelia standing alone in the corridor in front of the door of LaCroix's office. She lingered there a moment; a hesitation at turning the doorknob and a sigh. What was to await her? Prideful disdain, or meanness? Nerves were getting to her in case of what he may say, but she finally opened the door and went in.

"Ah Miss Siddall, there you are," his melodious voice met her first; the tone pleasant to hear as she knew it to be at times. He seemed to be in the middle of something, as he didn't immediately acknowledge her and there was paperwork on the desk as well as a laptop, which was a slightly odd sight given what she knew. Had she not known he was a vampire of who knows what age, he would appear like any other young businessman, as physically that's what he seemed. She didn't know how old he was anyway, only having a vague idea, so it was surprising to see that he even knew how to use modern technology. "Have a seat," he said with his full attention on her now.

As well as the other objects on his desk, there was also a glass with something in it. Before sitting down, she stared at it and blurted out "is that blood?" It looked fresh. Leticia had been carrying a silver serving tray, so must have just brought the glass to him.

" Yes, it is ," he replied, looking at her with a laconic expression. Seeing her unsuccessfully concealed discomfort, he explained, "no need to worry. There's no harm done." He picked up the glass as if to inspect the blood within it, as one would do wine. "From one of the corporate law consultants, and they are quite fine I assure you."

She just nodded, watching him. At least it wasn't hers - was that selfish to think? Thankfully, he didn't drink from it in front of her, which she thought he might do. What could she have in common with a business consultant? It was hard to work out what exactly the specification of this preference of his was.

"Now, to the reason I've invited you here," he said. "I presumed that the travel arrangements for next week would be of interest to you."

Amelia nodded. She wasn't exactly enthusiastic about going to Los Angeles. It had never really ranked highly on her lists of places to visit, though she supposed it may be interesting to visit once, at least. However, this move seemed to have some permanency. She didn't like the sun or hot weather. So, she dreaded living somewhere like that. Why did he have to drag her off to such a place? But having a job there might sweeten this offer. There was a certain prestige to it, although she wasn't sure in what capacity he would employ her yet.

"As you know, we shall be going on the 25th. Have you made preparations for this?"

"I've still got some packing to do, I guess."

"I see, but that is not quite the matter I was referring to," he said. "Have you informed your Aunt as I instructed?"

"Well. Sort of. Yes," she broke her gaze from his.

"That's not an answer." He sighed, "it's a simple question," his words deliberate to give the impression of patience; looking directly at her; into her. "Do you mean to tell me that you haven't?"

"Well, _no_ I have," she insisted; fiddling with her pen. "We had an email exchange as usual. She asked about what job applications I'm making at the moment, so I mentioned that I may have prospects of a contract extension here so that I'm considering it. So… in a roundabout way, yes," she hoped he accepted that. She was holding out for the chance that at the last minute he'd let her go. Or, that this was all a bad dream and she'd wake up from it soon.

"No then." Another heavy sigh. "I understand your reluctance, but the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be. You are leaving this open to the possibility that the situation is not set. But it _is_. What you need to say is simple - you were offered a permanent position at the Los Angeles offices, which are being expanded and redeveloped, and you have chosen to accept. That is not an unbelievable story and is accurate after all. Is this still too difficult?" he scrutinised her, "or, do you want me to speak to your Aunt for you?"

"No. No. _Don't_ do that," she responded immediately, feeling a sense of panic at the thought of this. _Wouldn't that seem odd anyway if he did?_

"Well, see that you do it then. I've already been very patient with you. There is only one week. As for other preparations, ask Leticia if you would like some assistance, I will instruct her to help."

"Ok." Given that over the last year and a half, she had lived at three different addresses, the majority of her stuff had been in luggage or boxes, and she'd taken it all around with her. Firstly, to the house she'd shared with fellow students in London. Secondly, some came with her to the student halls in New York for her semester abroad, after which she'd gone back to the house in London briefly, then to stay with her Aunt in Harrogate for a few months. Finally, she'd come here of course. And while most of her possessions that mattered were here, it was not everything she owned; some of it was still at home, so she may have to ask her Aunt to send it over if she was to be here for the foreseeable.

"Good. We will be flying there, as that is the most efficient method. We should arrive well in advance of daybreak - the reason for this being obvious. So, we shall start in the early evening, as soon as it is nightfall. As you can appreciate, time is important - crucial in fact - so I expect everything to run precisely. And that includes _you_ , so see that you are organised." he emphasised in his usual brusque manner. "You will need to be up early to assist with preparations in the daytime. I've chartered a private jet for the journey. Do you have any requests to be made in advance?"

"Um, not really. It sounds good anyway." Amelia said in awe. Just travelling on a private jet was significant enough; better than any travel she had been accustomed to, so she didn't have any special requests. It was already special enough anyway. But she was surprised he had even asked about her preferences. Nor did she expect him to inform her of these details in person, but rather send her itinerary via email, or simply ask someone else to tell her. Unless he just liked seeing her himself for some reason.

"There's no need to be so self-effacing," he almost laughed; amused by her meekness to accept more than the minimum conditions.

"I just don't know what to expect," she shrugged. _Why did he even care anyway? Aren't I just some servant of his, so should just be grateful for anything he gives?_

"Oh, I see," he said as if it were a revelation that she may not be used to such a lavish lifestyle. "I shall have some details of the options sent to you then. There must be _something_ you'd prefer. Think about it and let Ms Bianchi or Miss Stewart know soon."

He meant Leticia Bianchi or Marian Stewart, the latter of whom she hadn't seen much of, except in the first few weeks, and that was only in the evenings. _I wonder…_ "I'll probably let Leticia know then. I don't see Marian that much. She's usually at the office headquarters, I guess. Never seen her in the daytime though - why's that?" she asked pointedly, but suspected the answer was obvious.

"You haven't noticed anything… unusual about her as well then?" he asked as if interested in how well she could recognise the vampiric nature.

"Well… yes, I suppose but not especially. I guess I've never seen her enough to take as much notice." She had been more focused on him, and Marian had seemed generally normal. "She _is_ like you then?"

"Yes. Perhaps it is less noticeable to you because she was not Embraced very long ago, and so more easily blends in," he suggested.

"Oh," it dawned on her all the obvious little things that made sense now. It made her wonder. "Did you -"

" _No_ ," his reply came swiftly with finality. "She's just here for a short time to learn, as part of her training," he stated as if this fact was so commonplace it needed no explanation.

 _Training? What for?_ Amelia wondered, "like an internship?"

"I suppose you could describe it that way, yes." He didn't elaborate further.

The meeting was almost at an end. He had yet to mention her report, perhaps he wouldn't at all and she might feel relieved for that. She was about to go.

"Before you go," LaCroix began and Amelia wincing inwardly, feeling herself get nervous about what he would say next. "The report you completed."

"Yes?" She turned back from the door warily; dreading what he would say and expecting him to demolish it in a critique.

"Well done."

 _What?_ "Really?" It was like her nerves and worries had evaporated the instant of knowing her success, and was replaced by a feeling of relief and elation. Especially coming from him. LaCroix was so exacting and hard to please. Praise from him was high praise indeed since he didn't give it lightly, and would certainly say when there was something wrong or if he didn't like.

"Yes. It seemed very comprehensive and thorough."

"Oh, thank you," she beamed. Loving praise for doing well, especially after so much worry.

"Did you feel satisfied with your performance?"

"Yes… Well, I've done some work on special collections before - when I've volunteered and had a couple of modules on it but I'm not an expert, so I think I did alright. The workshop I went to helped. Well, maybe I could have been a bit more detailed on some points. Maybe the conclusions could have been more assured," she gushed, "but there's always areas to improve and it's good that you say it was good."

LaCroix looked at her, and for a moment there was a hint of a smile in his acknowledgement of her, perhaps he found her reaction sweet in the way that one might regard a child. He responded, "hmm, yes, you've done well, given the circumstances and time constraints. I knew that my judgement of your ability would be proved correct."

She realised she was probably rambling on and reeled herself back in, but could feel h erself blushing. "Thank you."

"You were meant to be paid your final salary at the end of this month. That is still the case and you'll receive the agreed amount. However," he took out an envelope from the desk drawer, "here is an advance, since you completed the assignment sooner than originally agreed. Think of it as a bonus."

He'd given her an additional $1,000.00 in cash. She was a bit giddy from that, but after a while thinking about it, she reminded herself that she shouldn't lose her head about this. He was doing it because the money meant power and influence over her and others, so she should view it with caution as it may be as much a tool of manipulation rather than genuine meritocratic reward, how ever seductive it was to see it as the latter rather than the former. But she had earned it. She had produced good work, to a tighter deadline than originally projected for. Played detective the past few months since meeting him and working here. And of course, the horror and ordeal of finding out Sebastian LaCroix was a vampire! So, didn't she deserve it? Yes. But she'd still be wary of his reasoning for doing it.

As she came out of the office and was about to cross the threshold of the stairs, a very large, tall dark shape that was moving caught in her peripheral vision, and she turned to it for a moment. A giant! It must have been at least nine-feet tall. Massive and foreboding, greyish skin, a deathly look, and red-eyed. It was coming towards her. She gasped and backed up onto a sideboard. It shook with the force, almost knocking off a vase which she lunged to save since it was probably worth a lot.

Her eyes turned back slowly, cautiously to the giant-like creature, who continued in motion but had stopped a metre from her and stood there silently, like a grim sentinel. It said not a word, and did nothing but stare blankly but intently, though not at her. The door from which she had come opened again suddenly and LaCroix appeared in response to the commotion. He looked at Amelia, frozen in place against the sideboard, and his mood seemed to calm as the scene made it clear what had happened. There seemed to be some sort of acknowledgement as LaCroix looked at the creature, and it backed off.

Relieved, Amelia seemed to breathe again for the first time. She moved closer to him as if she felt more secure there.

"Don't worry, Miss Siddall. He won't harm you, he answers to me," he stated stiffly.

She looked at him thinking, _are you sure? He looks way scarier than you._

There seemed to be some sort of non-verbal communication because LaCroix simply looked at the giant creature and it continued down the corridor - it's original destination before being side-tracked by Amelia's reaction. She stared as it went.

"What was that?"

"He's Kindred as well. But of another clan. I suppose you could say he is a bodyguard of sorts. I apologise for the fright he gave you."

Amelia just nodded and sighed. There were going to be more of these frightening encounters from now on, so she might as well get used to it. "It's fine… I can see why he makes a good bodyguard. He scared me half to death."

"Indeed. He tends to have that effect. As you can imagine, he is and has been very useful to me. But he is entirely loyal to me, so you will be safe." LaCroix told her, before saying, "you are unlikely to see him often, and the less you see of him the better."

 _Well, better not got on LaCroix's bad side then_. "Um, good. No offence but I'd rather not see him too often."

LaCroix nodded. "I shall have to leave now. More detailed information regarding preparations to be made, your responsibilities and plans will be sent soon. And, tell your Aunt as soon as possible - as I have told you. I insist that you do it tonight, or if not tomorrow."

"Yes, ok," she nodded meekly.

"Good. I shall see you next evening."


	10. Chapter 10

**Fates Traced in Blood - Chapter Ten**

Author Note: Happy New Year everyone. :)

It has taken me a bit longer to post this than I'd have liked. I did aim to get 12 chapters done by the end of last year, however with work and the holiday period it slowed me down. To be fair, I didn't start posting this story until the end of January 2019 anyway (I really should write faster tbf), so I should be able to do it still.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading.

* * *

Amelia was sitting near the windows in the private terminal lounge. Through the glass, she was looking onto the airfield, the lights of the taxiways and runways glinting in the darkness. Their aircraft, a Bombardier business jet, was visible waiting there. She'd only been here for about fifteen minutes.

They had travelled here in the limousine sometime after nightfall. She had been up since the morning, helping Leticia and others to finish the preparations they had worked on for the past week. Once dusk came, she could feel the minutes and seconds pass; knowing that he'd awaken soon and the sooner the time would come for them to leave. They left a couple of hours after he awoke.

A sense of anticipation - some dread, but excitement too. She had always enjoyed this first part of travelling. Nighttime drives on quiet, deserted roads which wound through the bleak beauty of countryside and moors; a sense of eeriness enhanced by night... That was the way to the airport when she went on holiday with her parents.

This was different. While she could enjoy the night, there was no quiet respite in New York and its teeming masses. High-rise buildings. The city lights. Car lights a blur in the evening. So busy outside… The limousine - a sanctuary. LaCroix sat in his seat, while she and Leticia had sat next to each other, apart from him. But she felt alone; unsure of what awaited, nor did it seem she'd return home again. Apart from the traffic, the arrival was smooth. An experience quite apart from her usual airport experience. There were no long queues, waiting times, no need to drag large luggage around, nor arduous security procedures to deal with. The reception was more like that of a luxury hotel, nothing like a typical airport check-in desk lobby.

Now, she was just relaxing in the chair while they waited, but it was likely this wouldn't be a long time. Their lounge suite was private, but she saw the attendant at the reception through the glass panels of the black-framed French doors. A woman in her late twenties with long, straight blonde hair that almost reached her waist. She was on the telephone. Perhaps they would board soon.

At present, it was just herself, Leticia, LaCroix and one of his security personnel, apparently human. The unsettling, giant-like creature that was LaCroix's primary bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. But he would be too conspicuous. He must be hidden somewhere. Perhaps in the hold. Or even with the large items that had been shipped separately. Leticia had gone to liaise with the staff here and aboard the plane, to take the hand luggage on. The aircraft was quite large. It couldn't just be them aboard it, but she wasn't quite sure how many others would join them. This was a business trip as much as personal for him, so some other business associates would join them too. He said that the expansion at the LaCroix Foundation offices in the 100-storey skyscraper Venture tower in Downtown Los Angeles was already in process, so some had already relocated. Likewise, he had already had business trips there while making inroads, but now it was to have more permanency. She was still not fully aware of why Sebastian LaCroix was doing this, thinking it was just a simple business expansion like any other. Indeed, it was in a way, but of course that was not the whole story.

Amelia glanced over at LaCroix, who was not sat with her, such that it would appear to a stranger's eye that they were not together. He was doing his own thing, reading something. She looked back out of the windows again. It was completely dark now of course, or else he wouldn't be here, but she reflected on how the twilight hour before night had been - a lovely but cold blue and burnt orange-red horizon with the last rays of the setting sun. Thinking also about the conversation with her Aunt she'd had on the telephone.

* * *

A week previously…

Amelia had returned to her apartment after talking with LaCroix. A little shaken up from seeing the giant, ashen-faced figure, silent but intimidating; also a vampire of some sort, and LaCroix's main bodyguard. He didn't hurt her but was terrifying to first encounter. There had been a lot to think about, and she had slumped down on the sofa in the lounge when she got in. There was his praise of her work, and the extra money he had given her - she had gazed down at the envelope still in her hand. Twenty fifty-dollar bills - definitely real. This sum was just small change to him, so there was no significance to giving her this bonus, but to her it was and he knew that. Anyway, she had still been elated by the good feedback.

She sighed, looking at the other larger envelope he had also given to her. One item in there was another visa, plus some other documentation. So he'd obtained that then. Well, it wasn't surprising if he had the contacts to pull a few strings… He was giving her a job; had employed her, and she had an advanced degree plus professional-body membership, so there was probably enough evidence to justify it. One less thing not to worry about then. But it brought home that the reality of going to Los Angeles was fast approaching. Too fast, in fact. She felt it would hit her at full speed before she had prepared for it.

And this meant she would have to let her Aunt know at least that she wasn't coming back. For most of her life, she hadn't known her Aunt that well. But, as she was her mother's half-sister, it was understandable now. Otherwise, Amelia was a free-agent. No parents; no siblings; no significant other; a fresh graduate so not tied to any area because of work or social circle. It was quite late in New York and the early hours of the morning in England. There was no point in calling then, despite LaCroix's insistence that she should do so as soon as possible. She'd have to do it in the morning.

The following day, Amelia had awoken in the mid-morning. It had been dark, with the curtains not yet opened. Loitering around; not dressed straight away. She hadn't felt like having breakfast yet, just some water. But, eventually, she sat at the telephone and dialled a number. Listened to the ringing and waited...

The ringing stopped. "Hello, this is Diana speaking," came her Aunt's voice down the down line. A slight unsure tone as the telephone number was probably unfamiliar.

"Hi, It's me - Amelia," she responded.

"Oh, Amelia, I didn't realise it was you at first, but I think you've called from this number before, now I think of it."

"Yeah, it's a phone at work. Obviously, I've not called often due to the cost, you know."

"Yes, of course. It's nice to hear from you again. How are you?"

"Fine. Everything's fine," Amelia said automatically, but as a script rather than depth of feeling. "I've finished my work assignment now."

"Oh, I thought you might have. How was the response?"

"Good actually," Amelia's voice coloured with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. His praise did make her happy. "The client I'm working gave me good feedback for it. He said it was very thorough and instructive. And you know, he is, um, well, not easy-going to be honest. I was so surprised. I thought I could have done a few things better."

"You are too harsh on yourself sometimes. And, it is your first job since qualifying you know, and you did well to get it," her Aunt reassured her. "That's very good to hear."

"I know." She paused. "I've got something else to tell you as well actually," Amelia said, twirling the phone cord in her fingers. "You know I said that I might get a work extension?"

"Yes?" Her Aunt replied. An air of anticipation. The phone crackled. "Any news?"

"Well, I - I've got it." Saying this seemed to make her nerves; the knot in her stomach dissipate. "He'd like me to work for him on a more long-term basis. Probably for knowledge and records management, at some point." But for now, it seemed LaCroix would have her as a personal assistant of some sort.

"And are you going to accept it?"

Amelia shrugged, not that her Aunt could see this. She pushed back the curtains around the window just slightly, looking down at the view in the morning. "Yes… I have. You're… not surprised I got it?"

"Not really. When you mentioned it I thought you might get offered, or else it wouldn't have been suggested at all." A few moments of silence. "This client you've been working for… he's high up in the company you did your internship with, isn't he?"

"Yes," Amelia responded. Very high up in fact - he's the CEO, she thought. Part of the agreement was not to disclose exactly who she worked for, which was not unusual for the private staff of individuals like Sebastian LaCroix. All she could say that it was an executive of the LaCroix Foundation. Now she knew there to be a more disturbing reason for it.

"Well, I told you it would pay off going to London for that internship and the course you went on there. I know you didn't really want to go to London since it's so big and expensive. But, unfortunately, most things are there, so you've got to take opportunities when you can. And, it's helped you make some useful contacts."

"I guess." The graduate school she went had a good reputation and specialised in professional qualifications notably law, business management and finance, besides her area. And, it was partly through knowing one manager at the LaCroix Foundation that she had come under the radar of Sebastian LaCroix himself. But did she now wish that she hadn't taken the semester abroad in New York? Then, none of this would have happened. But it was not her fault - just sheer luck, or perhaps misfortune, that she had crossed paths with him.

"So, you think I should accept it then? You're okay with it?" Amelia pressed, revealing her uncertainty.

"Well, it would be nice to have you back, but you've got to take opportunities when they come to you, and it won't be forever," her Aunt said warmly.

Not sure about that, Amelia thought. "I know it's just…"

"Overwhelming. That's normal and understandable. But you'll be fine - it's not so bad as you're already there. You were the same when moving to London. Have you got things sorted?" She had asked and Amelia went through a list of what preparations she had made.

"But it's not that really," Amelia trailed off. She could hardly tell her Aunt that LaCroix was a vampire, could she? An unspoken truth was like a weight upon her shoulders. It could not be told, though it would be a relief.

"Then what is it?"

Amelia took a deep breath. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. I guess it's just the suddenness of it all."

"Probably. But I'm sure you'll be fine." Her Aunt said, "you don't have to accept it if you don't want to, you know?" Some background noise. "You said he could be difficult though - is that why you're unsure?"

"Kind of. But then, he said I did well so… and he's been generous with giving this assignment - with the accommodation and all. Plus, the job offer he's given me now."

"Hmmm, he must like you a lot," her Aunt said, half-joking, but the insight was almost too close for comfort. Amelia almost choked on the water she had sipped. Then her Aunt's tone became a touch more serious, "I'm joking. He's been all right with you, hasn't he?"

"Yes," Amelia replied immediately. Apart from the fact that he was a vampire, LaCroix was generally hospitable. But that may just make it worse, not better. "I mean, he's quite… haughty, sometimes. But, you know, he's fine… mostly. And, I see little of him, anyway. He's not there most of the daytime." Should I have said that? Amelia grimaced. "The other staff are nice."

"I see. Well, if you don't see him often, it doesn't matter too much. You should be wary of course, but you're sensible so I'm sure you know that," her Aunt said with caution, intuitive to the possibility that LaCroix seemed to take a lot of interest in her. Too much perhaps. "It sounds like you already have accepted, so you must be happy enough. It's probably just nerves, that's all. I'm sure you'll be fine. I hope you do well. After not knowing what to do with yourself for a year or so - and that's understandable all things considered," her Aunt alluded softly to Amelia finding herself more or less an orphan after her father's apparent disappearance on the work contract abroad he'd had. She had withdrawn from the previous master's programme she had meant to do straight after her undergraduate, due to depression. "It's good to see that your hard work with your volunteering, working jobs that you didn't like that much, internship and studying is paying off. Your mum and dad would be really happy that you've got some direction now."

"Yes, I know. Especially my mum… she'd worry," Amelia said, feeling herself starting to well up; hanging on to the phone closely like a lifeline.

* * *

"Miss Siddall."

A sound, distant to hear, cut through her thoughts.

"What?" she gasped, flinching out of this reverie.

"Miss Siddall, are you ready? We are boarding now," LaCroix told her. His voice suddenly seemed louder though there was no real difference. She must not have taken notice of him even though his reflection was visible in the window glass.

"Oh, yes. I'm coming!" she practically jumped up out of her seat, and grabbed her handbag and cabin bag, rolling it along. Not before discreetly wiping her eyes, not wanting him to see.

The flight attendant asked, "let me take that for you."

Amelia replied self-effacingly, "oh thanks, it's fine. You don't have to."

"Don't worry we'll put that on for you," they replied, encouraging her to relax and be taken care of.

"Ok, yes thank you," she said in gratitude. LaCroix just breezed through this like he was so accustomed that it was insignificant.

When they went into the aircraft cabin, she had to pinch herself as she entered. The interior of the cabin was spacious - luxurious, in fact. It was divided into a few different zones. For the moment, there was time to explore. On entry, the front of the plane had the service area - a kind of miniature kitchen and which had a seating area for the flight attendant. Moving beyond this, the interior seemed to open up onto an airy, luxurious and spacious lounge with several roomy recliner seats. Then, there was a further seating area, but this time for dining as the seats were around a good-sized table. She ran her hand on the lacquered wood as she passed. Beyond this was a door, open at the moment, which led to a private suite. It had sofas either side and cabinetry storage. The attendant told her it could be made up as a bedroom too. As silly as it sounded, she was most impressed by the bathroom, as it was not at all like the tiny onboard toilet on most economy class commercial planes. It was a proper bathroom, the sink set within a quartz countertop and cabinetry; hand towels, luxury soap and toiletries. There was even a shower.

"This is amazing," she breathed and turned back into the private lounge smiling widely, her face lit up in her excitement as she rushed back to LaCroix, but stopped short. Suddenly, the gleeful manner dropping back into guarded reserve. Realising, she was wary of being too receptive to all this. He just looked at her unmoved - to him this was normality, but for a faint amusement like he found her reaction quaint. She dreaded to think of the cost. Why did he even want her on here? Maybe it was just a kind of seduction. Perhaps there was a sinister reason. But regardless, she was still excited.

Amelia occupied a seat which had a small side table and was opposite another seat in which Leticia had put her handbag in, but she was doing something in the serving galley at the moment. Amelia looked out of the window next to her. It was just blackness outside, lit by the twinkling of the runway lights.

Light footsteps coming down the walkway. Some other people emerged from the dark entrance passage into the front lounge. Amelia glanced up at them briefly. More vampires, mostly. It was something in their manner, and in appearance - an abnormal pallor. They were LaCroix's guests and went to him; he greeted them - a formality. Amelia was discreetly watchful as they went and settled into their seats there. She may as well be just a casual observer. A stranger to this party, not one of them. They were mostly unfamiliar to her.

Once all were seated, it was not long before take-off. As always, it gave a feeling of anticipation, excitement and some fear too. Amelia didn't suffer a phobia of flying though, except for slight apprehension that was natural. Soon they were flying through the night. The sky just blackness. Cutting through wisps of clouds. Below, were city lights that gradually grew to nothing as they left the city and suburban territory into wilderness, mountainous forest reserves and lakes, probably of Pennsylvania. Nothing could be seen in the night, which was a shame as the geography was probably quite beautiful in the day.

* * *

 _An hour later..._

Amelia was trying to keep herself to herself sitting at her end of the lounge compartment reading a book but was becoming uncomfortable. She could cope with LaCroix to a degree since she used to him, but having these others too now was unnerving. She glanced over at their group - like a coven of sorts. They seemed cordial enough with each other, but not close. Like business associates rather than friends.

One of them was Marian Stewart. The only one familiar, she seemed to be an intern of sorts to LaCroix, something like a personal assistant. Amelia had not seen her since the first week of working for LaCroix and hadn't gotten to know her much. Marian wore her dark blonde hair up in a high ponytail, and her appearance was well-kept subtle elegance, wearing a dark blue jersey shift dress - comfortable, but of some expense. According to LaCroix, she had not been a vampire long, but what did this mean? A few months? Or years, even decades? What would be a long-time to her may seem short to him? For simplicity's sake, she took it at face value, assuming that Marian hadn't been this way for more than a year. They may even be the same age as each other, more or less. She was nice enough but had a certain distant air despite general civility. Amelia believed that the woman had an affluent background, probably had attended exclusive schools et cetera, as she left a similar impression to some she encountered at the university she'd attended. Sometimes, that had given her a feeling of imposter syndrome - they fit like a glove into what seemed was their natural habitat, whereas she felt like infiltrating new territory. Judging by LaCroix and the others, there seemed to be a preferred type to Embrace in this Clan.

With her was a man. He was like LaCroix with haughtiness and bearing that suggested social elite, which someone not of that background may find intimidating and remote. Amelia wondered if this was the one that had - what was the word for it LaCroix used - "Embraced" - her? Physically, he appeared slightly older than LaCroix, who looked as if he were in his mid-twenties at most. A strange illusion. In reality, LaCroix could be the elder, though he seemed so youthful in the face. They had the commonality of a masterful presence. Perhaps they must all be of the same Clan. Marian, however, had a slight uneasiness about her, and her presence was more of an elegant but ornamental prettiness than authority.

Amelia looked away quickly when one of them looked at her, catching her gaze in theirs which seemed to peer into her too long. Although Leticia was here, and the other vampires had their attendant with them too, Amelia felt very much alone. The thought of being stuck on a plane for hours at night was frightening. Their thirst for blood would gnaw at them soon, so she hoped they had supplies with them. Perhaps that's what their human aide was really for.

She sipped the complimentary glass of Lauren-Perrier. Never much of a champagne fan, this one was very good, but it was mostly to ease her nerves. They would have dinner soon - before the flight, she'd been asked to choose food and drink requests from an extensive and enticing menu. There had many options to choose from, including an extensive breakfast menu; soups, salads and sandwiches; desserts; a variety of sharing platters; customizable meal choices. The wide variety of entrée selections included choices such as Pan-seared filet mignon with a truffle red wine jus. Lobster linguine with Thermidor sauce. Chicken ballotine with sautéed potatoes, tender stem broccoli, and chicken jus. Dover Sole in Meunière sauce with watercress, new potatoes, spinach and a caper beurre noisette. A very good wine list… Of course, none of this was suitable for Sebastian LaCroix and his vampiric peers. But the flight was several hours, so there had to be something for him. She was wary of what his complimentary drink might be.

When their food arrived, she tried to concentrate on enjoying it. Herself and Leticia had a shared starter and then their mains. The food was great, and it was odd to her to have something so good on a plane. Leticia seemed unperturbed by being in this company, "this is delicious," she said of her meal, "do you like yours?"

"Yeah, it's nice actually. Better than I expected." At the same time though, she found it difficult for her mind not to wander into anxious thoughts about what LaCroix and the vampires at the other end of the cabin would be feasting on. She glanced past Leticia, who sat opposite her, down at them, her eyes lingering on LaCroix's profile as he looked out of the window next to him. His grey eyes happened to meet hers unexpectedly, and she blinked quickly looking down at her plate of food.

"It's nice to sit down and relax once in a while," Leticia said.

"I guess you're enjoying the break," Amelia replied. "Thanks for helping me get everything together by the way."

Leticia just shrugged, "no problem. Everything had to be ready." Of course, LaCroix had instructed her to assist Amelia, and she couldn't refuse that.

The flight attendant swept past down to LaCroix. He must have summoned her to him to request something. Soon after, some glasses were brought to LaCroix and the others. Her gaze met Leticia's as the attendant went past with the tray of glasses - the red liquid too thick for wine. Blood no doubt. Leticia simply looked back at her knowingly. The crew of this flight must know what clientele they had abroad. It was difficult not to watch them drink it. They had genteel sophisticated ways, but somehow it was not quite dainty. Herself and Leticia had a nice meal, but the vampires got theirs too. This cheered her spirits somewhat, as it least LaCroix may not be planning on serving her up on the menu.

* * *

Another Two hours pass...

Dinner was cleared away. She had a glass of water on the side panel. Leticia was reading a magazine. She stared at LaCroix, working on something after a discussion earlier. Perhaps business or whatever other machinations he had. His glass now empty. You could just about see a light bloody residue when the light caught the glass at certain moments. How much blood must he drink in a night?

At one point, she noticed that one of the other vampires and the human with them seemed to disappear into the private lounge for several minutes. Only the vampire came back out again, and their attendant didn't appear again for an hour, a shade paler and less vital. Oh, dear. Leticia looked at her steadily and slid a piece of paper to her across the tabletop. A note:

 _Can't talk out loud. Don't be nervous, you'll be alright. The others will probably leave you alone as you're LaCroix's, and they're Ventrue too, so you may not suit them. But try not to go on your own where you can be isolated. Sometimes, they do want to try to bite you if they think they can get away with it. And they'll get thirsty being cooped up here for several hours, even though we arranged supplies… They like it best fresh... But, it's alright. They probably won't bother you. He will not want them to :)_

Amelia read this note and looked back at Leticia. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she said, not quite sure if it reassured her much, or just confirmed her fears that vampires were opportunistic and likely saw her as dinner. And it didn't rule out LaCroix. If he wanted to feed, she'd be his first choice - probably the only choice since he was choosy and no other was suitable. He'd probably brought her with him just for this purpose. Naturally, that was why LaCroix would not want the others to get a chance. He had told her he hadn't bitten her yet… why would he do that? With her so conveniently and easily accessible for two months, it was unbelievable that someone whose existence relied upon predatory and opportunistic acts wouldn't sample her at least.

* * *

Another two hours pass. Still another hour and a half left.

They would not arrive until around midnight Los Angeles time. The flight was about six hours long. She had been awake for over twelve hours already, and could feel herself being pulled into sleep. The seats were spacious and comfy, which made it even more tempting. Sleeping arrangements could be made, the cabin was spacious and had some separation of areas. There was the private lounge that could become a bedroom… But she could hold on until the end. She didn't want to sleep on the flight, despite being tired. Not with this company anyway.

It was good to have so much room to move around in. She had got up from her seat to go to the bathroom, tempted almost to jump in the shower to wake herself up, but decided against it. After a while she came out and would have sat on the sofa in the private lounge to be alone - fed up with paranoia of being watched and unable to not observe the vampires there. But when she came out, she found LaCroix opposite her, just closing the door behind him as he entered. Leticia's advice of not creating opportunities to isolate herself was accurate, and she felt a bit stupid for letting this happen. He had watched her go in here, no doubt.

He lingered there, his hand still lightly on the door. "Miss Siddall," he said softly, his attention not fully on her yet, "are you enjoying the flight so far?"

It was the worst when he was urbane like this, as she found it disarming and lulled her into a feeling of comfort. Unsure what to do, she just stood in the middle of the room. "Um, it's great," she said looking at the surrounding luxury. "Very comfortable."

"Good to hear," he replied, moving away from the door further into space. "You did seem more enthusiastic earlier though," he noted, probably noticing that she was a little too uneasy to enjoy it. "Has anything been not to your liking, or are you simply grown accustomed now?"

"Oh no. No. It's just, I'm still a bit… overwhelmed." That's one way of putting it. "It's good. Better than usual flights I've been on," she shrugged.

"I see."

She kept her eyes on him as he moved further into this room. He looked out of the window to her left. "I expect it shall not be long before arrival."

Amelia peered at the window. She couldn't see anything. She lent on the sofa to look closer. It just looked dark outside. "I still can't see anything, how do you know?" she half-laughed and turned back to him.

"Well, I can see better than you." He seemed to be almost toying with her, which was odd. A quietness then.

Naturally, she wondered what his purpose was. Considering what she had seen and what Leticia had said earlier, she was still suspicious. She felt tired having been awake for so many hours. "I should go back now."

"Stay here," he said softly, with a sense of ease that contrasted her feeling of terror.

"What for?" she asked him directly.

"There's no particular reason," he said, "you're welcome to stay in this room if you wish to."

"You know what I mean."

"Of course," he looked at her steadily.

"Well, I," she swallowed, taken aback by his directness, "I just wish you'd get on with it then, rather than all this waiting," she sat down on the sofa, almost in defeat.

"The offer is much appreciated, but it isn't essential."

She stared at him aghast. "But… Are you sure? Isn't that why you've brought me on here? Isn't the onboard meal all part of the experience? I've had mine - which was great by the way, but I know it's nothing you'd be interested in. I know there's the glasses of blood you've had, but that's not quite the same is it? No. if you want something served up that'll be me," she ranted in whispered tones. She had warmed to the prospect of being bitten by him. On the surface, she was resigned to accepting the inevitable. Yet, her curiosity and attraction to the idea of him doing it, was a buried truth. "And probably for your friends too."

"No," his reply was sudden, "In any case, I don't believe they're interested in you."

"Ok," she replied cautiously. What if they were though? You wouldn't let them?

Sitting next to her, "that's why your enthusiasm lessened then, I take it?" He continued, lecturing in a reassuring but paternalistic way, "you will have to acclimate - you will encounter more Kindred from now on."

Amelia just nodded; watching him. "So," she took a breath, "are you going to?" she referred obliquely to it, thinking that's what he would want. But she was reluctant for it to happen here. The thought in her imagination of being met with knowing looks that she'd been bitten was unsettling. And, in her mind, would then be judged not as a person, but just an object to consume. Unimportant, like most people, who they regarded as just prey, like cattle.

He looked at her for a long moment. And she wondered what his thoughts were. "You look tired. You should rest. These nerves are worsened by lack of sleep." He added in a matter of fact tone, "they can make sleeping arrangements, you know."

"No. It's fine," she replied suddenly; her pulse-raising. Under no circumstances did she want to go to sleep on here. Not with these other vampires around. As for LaCroix, she had come around to the idea that she might be comfortable with being bitten by him, but no one else. She was tired. Almost dropping off into sleep now and then. "You said it wouldn't be much longer?"

"Another hour at least."

"I can stay awake for that time."

"No, no," he said dismissively. "I shall have that arranged. Go to sleep."

"But..."

* * *

Amelia woke. Almost falling off the sofa in the private lounge. Still not quite fully awake, she sat up and needed a moment to adjust. She was unsure if she had dreamed the previous conversation. It seemed very real, but she wondered what had happened in the intermission between that and her waking now. Had she fallen asleep? This was an uneasy prospect, given the vampiric passengers onboard. Whatever LaCroix said about them being disinterested in her, she was weary of trusting that they would have no predatory thoughts. And then there was LaCroix himself to consider. Her gaze shifted to her wrists, pulling back her sleeves and touched them lightly across the veins, and then touched her neck self-consciously, looking for signs. She thought he would. Surely he was thirsty for fresh blood? I can't believe he would wait, but there seems to be nothing. Sighing in thought - or at least there's no evidence.

She went back to her seat in the main cabin, as they neared arrival and steadily began the descent for landing. Leticia looked at her, and Amelia felt as if she were wondering what had happened.

"Look, we'll be arriving soon," Leticia indicated the window. The night sky black, the city lights glowed, almost an amber haze on the horizon, and the many tall skyscrapers of Downtown L.A. seemed to rise above this urban sprawl.

They arrived in Los Angeles without incident. Disembarking from the aircraft, a convoy of black limousines awaited. The other vampires had their own, and it seemed they would go their separate ways for now. Amelia and Leticia got in with LaCroix since they were his attendants. The car ride - uneventful. A calmness that shielded from the reality of this city that was turbulent, hostile and sordid beneath its veneer of glamour.

* * *

Author Note: Thanks for reading. :) I should have the next chapter up soon as it runs directly on from this one more or less, but it'll probably be a few more days at least before the next one is on. It will be worth waiting for though I think :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Author Note:**

My new chapter is here finally. it unfortunately took longer to complete the writing and editing of this than I had anticipated. Did not managed to get to 12 total chapters by the end of 2019, but oh well. As long as I can continue to complete and post chapters, I'm not too worried.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think it has some interesting moments ;) Thank you to continuing readers and subscribers, your support is much appreciated. :)

* * *

It was after midnight. Cruising down the freeway under an expanse of a dark, cloudy sky. Downtown Los Angeles in the distance, at its heart skyscrapers rising above the city; dominating like Gothic spires, and the urban sprawl of many labyrinth streets; the black shapes of buildings closing in around. It was a foreboding and mysterious scene under the cover of night.

LaCroix glanced at Amelia Siddall, sitting opposite in the limousine with his other ghoul, Leticia Bianchi. It seemed the most convenient option to bring the pair of them to travel with him, these two being the more domestic of assistants. Mercurio, his other ghoul, was already stationed in Santa Monica for some months. He studied the young brunette woman as she looked through the window at the city at night rolling by. A light rain fell outside; the droplets obscured the glass. His eyes trailed over her for a moment. As she turned away from him, her long dark hair swept back behind her shoulder; her neck just slightly exposed above the neckline of her sweater. He saw the subtle pulse beneath the skin.

He pulled himself away from this for now. His gaze moved back to her profile then, reading the expression there. Weariness in her eyes, though, she observed everything. Some excitement and trepidation at the newness of it all. She had been on edge before. He assumed she was still worried about being plunged into the midst of other vampires again. Though she tried to maintain an aura of ease, he could feel her desire to keep a distance between herself and him.

"I expect we will arrive soon," he told her as they drew under the shadow of towering buildings.

She looked out of the car window, watching the landscape rush by; the distant towers of the city which seemed to disappear into the night. "Will it be just us then?" she asked, turning to him her eyes looking into his with an inquiring gaze that he found was often typical of her. Something in her tone seemed pleased and relieved at this possibility.

"Yes," he replied, understanding that being amid other Kindred concerned her. "You may retire for the night." He glanced out of the blacked-out windows on to the wide boulevard rolling by.

* * *

Tonight, they were a little outside downtown Los Angeles at a Haven of his. A suite of several rooms. Private and secure. Several rooms were windowless or had blinds that blocked out the daylight, similar to the New York house. The interior style was modern-classical. The windows had panoramic views, and the high storey gave a sense of distance from the city.

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed in her room, then flopped down on it with a sigh. Its comfort made her feel as if she could fall asleep again for hours. Laying there for a few moments, she stared up at the ceiling. What am I going to do here? She thought of how improbable the situation was, the unreality of it. Yet here she was, and there seemed no possibility of anything ever being the same again.

LaCroix seemed to have deposited Amelia and Leticia to settle into their own rooms for now, and she hadn't seen him for an hour or two. When will he be back? Thinking of the other vampires made her uneasy. How they seemed ordinary on the surface, and yet there was a creeping fear of something wrong. Their eerie presence struck one as both enchanting and unnerving. What if they come in here too? She didn't want to be here while it was still night if they did. Since he had said that she'd cross paths with other vampires soon, she had dwelt upon this prospect. LaCroix was one thing, but more was overwhelming. Hopefully there would be a respite from this for now. She preferred it that way and was glad to be alone.

Amelia stayed in her room for a while just laying there, though had showered and changed out of the clothes she had worn that day. Sleep was an attractive thing. And with no distraction, it felt like the exhaustion would hit all at once. But she stayed up for a while in her room after changing. Her throat felt parched dry, so she went for some water as an excuse to explore. Wandering out down the corridor, which was private but connected to the main suite. It still appeared quiet and deserted. Leticia had gone to bed. LaCroix was still nowhere to be seen. He said he wouldn't be too long... Socialising, maybe? Or he needed blood. He needn't go out for that though , she thought grimly. Yet he'd had the opportunity before and she felt sure that he would on the plane, so why hadn't he... She couldn't work him out sometimes.

Finding herself in the lounge, she sat primly on the sofa in a manner afraid of touching anything in the way one might be in an expensive store or museum filled with priceless objects. It was almost entirely dark in the room; light coming only from the hallway through the half open door, and the pale moonlight that streamed in from the large window. It framed an expansive view of Los Angeles by night, and she felt herself drawn to it; looking out as she sat on the sofa. There was a certain enchanting glamour about the night, more beautiful than the day. Perhaps it was a sense of danger and mystery that was more alluring. She stayed there awhile.

* * *

It was past 3 am when LaCroix returned. He acknowledged the Nagloper stationed silently beside the door to the penthouse as a sentry. For the day, the security was arranged, easing what concerns may have arisen.

A few hours before dawn, he planned to relax for the rest of tonight. It was quiet now; the rooms were almost deserted. But he was aware of a presence. Pushing the door to the lounge ajar, he was cast in shadow; the room lit only by moonlight from the window. Entering further, his step almost silent, he could see there was a shape half-reclined upon the sofa, realising it to be a familiar person. Miss Siddall, what are you doing here at this hour, he wondered. Given her earlier discomfort about the others, it surprised him that she had not hidden in her room somewhere.

While she was still unaware of his presence, he moved in silence, lingering just near the sofa. She seemed to be asleep and only slightly stirred as the door closed behind him. How she looked peaceful, but helpless. _How convenient_... Her pulse was steady. Stillness in the room except for the soft sound of her breathing, besides the faint hum of the city, and her heartbeat which in this quietness he couldn't help but notice. Her hair had been tied back but now loosened and tumbled partially over her face and jaw. He brushed away a lock of brown hair from her face; the back of his fingers caressed lightly over her skin, perhaps slower than necessary, and stopped as suddenly as he had begun.

The scent of her blood richer in his senses. Not overpowering, but a longing there. It was easy to become lost in that, sometimes seeming to take possession of all thoughts. His eyes closed for a moment. He hadn't an absolute hollowness of hunger, yet was not sated. Somewhere in between... This had drawn him in before. The reason for his attention towards her from the beginning, and it was a thought that revisited him. The magnetism ebbed and flowed, mostly he was in control; mostly he hadn't felt that he must... It was a curiosity for the most part. But the flight was lengthy. He had thought of it then. Bringing her on the flight was purposeful, as it was convenient if he wanted to feed, and he had planned on doing so.

She, however, was ill at ease there, despite enjoying the experience, comfort and luxuries on offer. The presence of other Kindred besides himself had unsettled her. Now, it shouldn't matter whether or not it upsets her, he reflected. She was just mortal prey. Quite an ordinary young woman, whereas he was Kindred; one of the Clan of Kings at that and was claiming Domain here in this major city. In comparison, she seemed very insignificant — why should he worry what she thought about it? The morality of what a vampire needed to do for sustenance was questionable anyway, so it became futile to think of sympathy. It was easy for him to do it anytime if he so desired. Right now even. But that would be too easy; vulgar in fact. It was not necessary to be accommodating towards her — he could simply tell her to submit — but he appreciated the utility of getting her to trust him. To her, the situation was already unsettling, so there was no reason to heap needless horror upon it.

He put these distracting thoughts aside then. He'd lingered too long and suddenly went to the window. Observing the nightscape; his grey eyes shifting attentively taking everything in. Soon, there would be many burdens and obligations that came with power... This venture was not solely his, but a Camarilla scheme to capture the historically Anarch territory, taking advantage of the disorder in the past few years. Could it be done? Over the last months, the usual Camarilla methods of taking a city were practised; extending influence through business, investments, property, connections, and diplomatic deals with some Kindred in the area... However, the city remained very fractured, and any grip on it was uncertain. His extent of power was, regrettably, not as widespread as he'd like, but this was the beginning and there was time. He wanted the pleasure of conquering it, and the accolade of doing so, though the odds of this were thought doubtful. It would give him power, one of the few things that retained tangible meaning to most Kindred as the decades past. He thought of this while waiting to wake her.

* * *

Later than, having fallen asleep then waking again still in the depths of night, it surprised Amelia to find herself lying on the sofa; the room at first unfamiliar and almost entirely dark, but soon remembered. She'd sat in here alone for a while, and must have fallen asleep for half an hour. She glanced around the room, planning to slink back to the her bedroom.

But there was a dark shape silhouetted by the window in the un-lit room. Her eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, she squinted to better see, and realised it was LaCroix when he turned his face to her. The moonlight illuminated him, the hue of his skin appearing almost unnaturally pale. The effect was striking yet disconcerting. "Oh, I didn't realise you were here," Amelia said in surprise; sitting bolt upright. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long. Perhaps a few minutes," he held his gaze steadily on her for a while, then turned back to the window. "I'm surprised that you find yourself here at this time."

Amelia now sat up on the sofa, pulled her dressing gown more snuggly around herself. "I'm sorry for falling asleep in your lounge."

"It's no matter," he shook his head.

After a pause, she asked, "will anyone else join you?" He imagined she must feel like a lamb amongst a pack of wolves, being amid several vampires at once. She seemed more comfortable with just him alone. But the small dose of his blood would imbue such a feeling. Or, just a case of better the devil you know than the one you don't.

"No," he pushed aside this suggestion, knowing it best not to encourage her worries, but rather nip them in the bud. The best thing was to keep her relaxed. "We are quite alone. I like the peace of these few hours before morning," he said almost wearily.

"Oh," she replied and glanced back at the door as if she was about to go. So it is just us then. "I should probably go as it's late. And it's been such a long day."

"It has. You must be tired," LaCroix replied deliberately, his gaze fully on her. "But, stay for now."

She looked at him like she wondered why he wanted her to stay and was a little suspicious at least.

"Ok," she had stood up now and approached nearer, but still distant. Looking out of the long windows, the cityscape was sprawling and a little unnerving. "This place seems so vast," she said, "not that New York isn't, but this is… in a different way. And… there's something uneasy in the air," she looked nervous, and he found her observation oddly perceptive. "Do you think you will like it here?" she switched to a lighter tone.

He had not thought about if he would actually like it here in such a simple, innocent way as she meant. It was gaining power and security to himself which appealed the most. "I'm sure there are aspects to recommend it."

He turned his gaze back to the window, watching nothing in particular. A slight grimace as he felt the thirst gnaw at him. He wasn't desperate, but with her being near and as his thoughts drifted there… He could feel her eyes on him, her faint reflection in the glass showed a curious look on her face.

"Are you ok?" Amelia asked with a gentle enquiring gaze; her voice a mix of curiosity and concern. He seemed a little on edge.

So she had noticed, he thought. It took him slightly off guard - her interest in his well-being, with no apparent underhand intention behind it. It was warm; a naiveté there that he could have ridiculed for foolishness, yet was endearing. His gaze not leaving the window, "fine," was his reply, not wanting to alarm but rather ease her into it. "Come sit down," he changed the subject as he turned back to her suddenly and glanced over at the sofa.

"Um, ok." Her voice was soft and uncertain. She had a feeling as to the reason why and looked at him with sceptical concern as they turned from the window. "You've not been out tonight?" she asked for some reason.

"Why should I wish to?" he wondered why she had asked that.

"Er, wouldn't you," she faltered and he could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea she was setting out, "want to try this fresh hunting ground for yourself… if that's what's bothering you?"

He was surprised that she brought that up. She must think it was the primary interest of his - new territory replenished with fresh blood like he was a kind of wild creature with only base motivation. Of course, it was not entirely inaccurate, he had thought of it. Blood was everything to Kindred, perhaps more so for the Ventrue given their refined tastes. But it wasn't the only thing in his thoughts.

"Certainly, that is one option," his gaze moved thoughtfully, "but that's not what I had in mind. It is late - only a few hours until morning. I've no desire to go outside now." He'd like to feed before sleeping, but he was not in the mood to go out hunting tonight. He assumed she understood where he was going with this. "Nor have I need to."

"Oh." A little apprehension on her face. He was observing her intently, awaiting what she would say. A sinking feeling inside. It was too late to leave the safety of this Haven and the supplies of blood to his taste would not satisfy. Tonight, she was the only option. Her expression changed to realisation. "You mean?"

Her pulse seemed to have elevated. She had to know what he meant by that. He was used to such common signs of vitality amongst the living, and would not have survived long had he easily succumbed to the allure. He had already fed well before their flight, and onboard there were refreshments. They had a reserve of blood supplies, which appeased his thirst, yet didn't quite satisfy. Even the finest vintages the best blood vintners had to offer didn't compare to having it fresh.

His eyes were bright, and looked at her for what seemed like a long time, but wasn't much at all. His gaze was speculative. He was thinking about it. He had yet to partake of her blood but remained cautious. The primary concern of a Ventrue was to choose vessels wisely. He imagined she knew his thoughts. He could feel her mood change, perhaps something in how he looked at her made her uneasy and she just knew what lay behind it. He was thirsty. And, curious. It was a relief to have this time, free from distractions or concerns, knowing that the real burdens of being here would soon begin. And travel was tiring; he needed to feed. He'd like her to let him. But he could tell that this would require patience. Despite her shy disposition, she was quite willful. Yet she might still be open to persuasion. And alone here now, she seemed calmer.

"Amelia." He hadn't used her first name before, and it felt new to him.

Her breath hitched at the soft inflexion of her name by him. There wasn't an imperious demand there, almost a curious request. He had been inquisitively looking at her, and she felt that he was thinking about something. Using her name made it worse since it signalled a gesture of intimacy. So he is going to do it then… she breathed again. "Yes?"

"Come here," he asked softly, with a note of speculative curiosity.

"What for?" She eyed with mistrust; daring not to move. Her voice sounded timid.

"I need blood," he admitted in a soft murmur with a glance out of the window, as if this fact was insignificant, a mere academic observation, yet knowing that it was not so trivial. This candid admission brought her suspicion into reality and she was not wholly prepared for it. A cold feeling flushed through her.

"Don't be nervous," his voice was soft as his gaze returned to her; expressing reassurance but also seemed to chastise her reluctance as absurd. He could feel her anxiety. Her pulse quickening, as if she thought he would do it then and there. She must think he would fall upon her like a wild animal - how should he feel about that? "Just come to me," he sighed heavily, betraying a slight note of frustration.

Amelia hesitated before making any move but edged closer until she was just in front of him. His fingers brushed her hair away from her face, ghosting a cool tactile trail across her skin. He lifted her chin so that her gaze would meet his; his fingers rest just soft against her neck. There was a look of curiosity and appraisal in his light grey eyes.

"Why did you wait until now?" she wavered, her questioning gaze meeting his. This situation was a little déjà vu. A mirror of their previous encounter in the private jet, except that had ended in him abruptly leaving. She suspected he had made her go to sleep somehow, since he seemed to have mind control powers, but couldn't understand why he hadn't fed on her when the opportunity was there. "You could have earlier, why not?"

"As I told you," he stated, as his hand withdrew from holding her, "It wasn't essential that I must." His hunger had not been so great then and could wait. "I considered it. Given the long flight time, it would be welcome... And you did offer. However," his expression changed to something more introspective, and she tilted her head as her curious eyes beheld him, "I thought a more private setting would be more agreeable."

"That's -." Understanding by this he had perceived her discomfort on the plane, she was unsure how to digest this revelation that he had been somewhat considerate. "Noble of you." Although she had offered to let him earlier, it was in anxious distress built up over time, rather than willingness. The unfamiliar setting and company made her insecure, and it was worse than being bitten by him itself. That could be acceptable, assuming certain circumstances.

"Pleasure." He did not elaborate further, his cool detachment there as usual, but his gaze expressed an unspoken understanding. "But, I should tell you," he broached this gently, "it is best not to wait too long, you understand?"

She nodded but felt nervous. Understanding that prolonging this made his thirst grow more urgent. That could be worrying. "Ok," she said in a small voice.

"Good." His voice was soft and inviting. His hand touched her side, just resting on her lower back. Not ice-cold, yet not quite warm. "Come sit down."

Rather than following him at first, she remained rooted in place, not knowing what to expect, though he gently edged her along with him.

"Would you like anything first? A drink perhaps?" His voice seemed to wash over her as he guided her across the room to the sofa, setting her down there, seeming almost as a languid dream.

Amelia wasn't sure if his civility was reassuring, or possibly more disturbing. "No, I'm fine with just the water," she referred to the glass of water she already had.

"If you're sure," he accepted. To him, it might have relaxed her a bit, by introducing some normality. And it was the first night here. A little something to celebrate would be appropriate. That was some of his interest in feeding on her now since he had yet to do so, which made her position rather unusual. It made sense to him for it to be a special occasion. During the flight would have been ideal but, knowing that she could be an anxious type, now was better. Same night, different setting.

He wasn't in too much of a rush, so didn't mind taking the time to let her settle into the idea. As he sat down next to her, she felt an elevated awareness of his physical proximity, wondering if and how soon he would do it.

They sat for a few minutes.

He was close to her, though not overbearingly so. It seemed like he would take his time and wouldn't just pounce on her. But his presence was indelible, and he seemed to examine her. Pausing, for now, from taking the next steps.

Breaking the brief silence that had formed, "I - I'm a bit nervous," she admitted after taking a sip of her water. She'd been clutching the glass in her lap and hoped he didn't notice it, though she was not expecting much sympathy. It was a little foolish to admit vulnerability to him of all people. Yet he seemed to have extended a little olive branch in not doing this earlier, so she had some hope.

"I understand," his eyes glanced there for a second, noticing how her fingers clenched around the glass before meeting her gaze again. "But try to relax," he reassured her, stating this like it was a simple fact.

It was hard not to heed this advice as she could not refuse the luminous grey eyes that beheld her. But she still had doubts. "It's easy for you to tell me that though," she almost let out a nervous laugh. "You could -"

"I won't take too much," he said to preempt her concern, knowing by instinct what she feared. His demeanour remained collected, with a cat-like nonchalance, but beneath this was a palpable need.

She made a little muffled noise in uncertainty. It seemed like he'd saved her for a special occasion, or had left her alone before because he had other tasks for her. Now, he had yet to assign her anything, and the details of work he may give her had been vague. He seemed to have no definite purpose for her apart from his interest in her blood. Given what she knew, should this interest of his prove fatal, he may find it very convenient. But he had been quite hospitable, humane even. The surroundings were comfortable and exclusive. The fact that he hadn't done this earlier because he'd sensed her discomfort, may be reassuring. But LaCroix was capricious. There was no proper reason why he wouldn't just drain her, no matter what pragmatic explanations he gave. It was like trusting on a whim. "I'm not sure about this," her voice carried a tone of dismay and her doe-eyed look at him showed uncertainty. "Do you have to?"

"Yes," he sighed heavily again as if carrying a burden, his eyes closing in what seemed like frustration or tiredness, suppressed by patience. "I know that you are nervous," he offered. Although often demanding, LaCroix seemed not quite exasperated but tired and rather troubled. "But it is late and I need it." There was a slight edge to his voice. Knowing that he needed to do this soon, while he was lucid and conscious of himself. Too much longer, and any semblance of control may fade into oblivion. With it, his desire not to hurt or kill her may be gone entirely. He was not quite sure if she really understood that.

Her eyes fell to the glass of water still clutched in her lap. "I know… it's just…"

"It is no small thing, what I'm asking," he began, while he observed her. In profile, her dark hair now tumbling out down her back and over her shoulders, and her gaze was often down at the glass she held in both hands as if it gave some physical reassurance. "It's reasonable for you to be at least a little frightened. It would be strange and rather disappointing if you weren't."

A slight smile from her.

"But it is as natural to me, as breathing is to you," he said, almost in a poetic mood. "As you know, I can only feed on a select few." She wasn't quite sure if that was meant as a compliment and felt strangely flattered and yet disturbed. "No need to be wasteful."

It filled her with wariness that this was just his way of persuading her, and that the lasting meaning of his words were hollow. But it did make sense. It was unlikely that he'd want to kill her. The thought of losing a rare blood source probably horrified him. She still looked nervous and uncertain, yet perhaps a bit curious as well, as she began to entertain the idea despite her concerns. With an innocent searching gaze, but she looked to him for reassurance. "Will it hurt?"

"Perhaps at first," he conceded, heartened by this question that she seemed to be warming to it. "But I'll be gentle," he murmured softly, his voice like a caress at this soft volume and intimacy.

Something in his words, his tone of voice or the sensuous implication made her heart skip, and a sudden rush of warmth spread over her.

He had the impression that she was quite inexperienced and had seemed shy even before she knew anything about him. He added, interested in her reaction, "In fact, you should find it quite pleasant."

That's exactly what worries me , she thought, feeling a warm blush form on her cheeks. He had referred to this before about The Kiss, as he'd called it, but she feared this peculiar intimacy with him. Perhaps it was demonic and would weaken her; even prove fatal. And the frightening thing was that she might not even want him to stop. Yet she felt drawn to what she imagined was the pleasure of his embrace. But she would never admit that to him. And how could she trust him?

Though not at the edge of Frenzy, he could feel his thirst nip at him. A mixture of necessity and curiosity. He could not abide further prolonging this; aware too that there were only a few hours left of night. "You've had many questions. You must be curious…" he observed, studying her expression. "Let me show you."

Before she could protest, he plucked the glass out of her hands and placed it back on the side table. He took off his suit jacket, laying it on the other side of the sofa. Amelia remained in place, watching these actions in apprehension, and a bit of wonder; trying to prepare herself.

He turned back to her. Their eyes met with a sense of knowing. As he moved closer, his hand moved around to the small of her back, and rested there, holding her to him in a more comfortable position. She could feel the plush cushioned upholstery, almost melting into its comfort, while her body was held partially against his. How intimate it was, the way he held her, it was almost romantic, but that seemed to shroud the reality of it.

A confusing mixture of feelings bled through her. Like desire with loathing strangely mixed.

"Now," he said, his face was close to hers, almost as if he would kiss her, and his voice not much above a whisper. "just relax." Touching a handful of her long dark hair, he brushed it back over her shoulder, leaving now her milk-white neck exposed, the soft skin there so vulnerable. His fingers, long, gracile but pallid and cold ghosted over her cheek and knit into her dark hair, the texture soft to touch, cupping the back of her head in his hand, drawing her closer. His eyes lingered there, and slowly his head began to dip down to fill the space. She felt each of her breaths; her chest rising and falling deeply.

With the sudden intimacy, she'd had long enough to realise that little warmth emanated from him. Nor heartbeat, save for hers, which seemed to consume her notice now. He hardly breathed - she felt no breath warm her skin despite his closeness. All this seemed suddenly mundane and obvious, and difficult to forget once she was awakened to it. He was … A chill crept over her skin. Amelia felt her heartbeat quicken in every limb, more conscious of her pulse in knowing that he noticed too. She could see it in his eyes.

" Shh ," his lips pressed against her neck for the first time. Ah. She felt a new kind of knot in her stomach. It made her feel heady. She fidgeted, not quite settled. He felt her surge and make a little whimper; she must be sensitive. He could hear her heartbeat, almost feel it. She took deep breaths, trying to be calm. Her neck felt soft against his lips and inviting. The scent of her blood flowing so near. Realising only now quite how much he had yearned for this. "Don't deny me," he murmured against her skin. Pausing, for now, she felt his lips brush her neck again, carefully selecting the spot he would bite her. She swallowed and closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

" Relax ," he told her again. He felt her soften, her head tilting back in surrender. He filled the space she offered him. She could feel his lips parting against her supersensitive skin. And -

Her eyes widened as it happened. She'd been prepared for pain, but it still made her gasp to feel; to have allowed herself to be bitten. The sharp burn of his bite shocked her. Her hands gripped onto him; feeling the expensive material of his shirt beneath her fingers.

She let out a slight cry - pain and relief. Sharpness then a sensation deep within; melting the pain into something quite different. She felt like sighing and falling deeper and deeper with each draw of vitality he took from her as his mouth sealed onto her throat. The icy chills of unease turned to electric sensations, and she wondered if she had mistaken them all along when they were not fear but excitement.

He felt a familiar rush as his fangs pierced her flesh and blood began to flow, savouring the first taste. Her blood tasted beautiful. Calming his stress and placating his thirst. She did fit his particular needs. Like fine red wine honey. Warmth seeped into every pore of his body, filling him with the pleasure of life as he drew blood from her. He held her fiercely.

She was holding on to him lightly now, feeling suppliant; languid with a sensuous pleasure overtaking her. He could drain her. She felt powerless, yet not unwilling. As all the former tension and anticipation that had wound tightly in her body melted into release, like lying on a cloud of rapture, she couldn't help but let out a moan.

For her this pleasant intimacy was joined with a weakening feeling; like she was falling deeper and deeper into him, and would easily let him do this to death. But he had no genuine desire for that. He supposed that he should not care in the grand scheme of things, but there was no need for malevolence about it. And it would be such a shame. A waste of precious blood. He was a Ventrue, that clan of rarified tastes that could be a mild inconvenience or crippling limitation. The realisation of quite how much he had longed for this, made him want to conserve and savour such a finite resource. And she had promising qualities too than one might need of someone meant only as a vessel.

He'd drunk a little deeper of her than he had intended, and it was tempting to continue but he pulled himself away, though it was almost unconscious, like the slow-motion of a dream. Stray droplets wept on her throat and he lapped them up, savouring the taste and the satisfaction of her blood. Soothing the wounds.

She held onto him for a little while after he'd finished. She felt limp and undone in his arms, but remained there, content and languid. His cool body surely offered no normal human comfort, but the lingering feelings of the Kiss might. Her green eyes looked dreamy, dazed. She felt faint and the entire thing seemed unreal. The only anchor to reality and consciousness was him holding her. And then… nothing.

LaCroix regained his sense of aloof composure and straightened himself. He contemplated the unconscious girl. She'd fainted in his arms.


End file.
